When the World Stops
by mochaloca85
Summary: Not my usual fluffy Fred x Angelina story. Cowritten with AngelsFred. Follows One Amazing Summer, but is kinda actually the 4th part of the series. Part 2 takes place during Goblet of Fire & deals more with George & what happens when Alicia & Abby meet.
1. Chapter 1

When the World Stops

FredsAngel

Disclaimer: For the one person in the world who's stupid enough to think that I'm JK Rowling, I'm not. I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Omniverse. However, I do own the whole Johnson family (except Angelina, of course) and all of the Toussaints.

A/N: I started writing this the day after I finished OotP, but Alex said it seemed incomplete. It started out as Angie's feelings about Fred leaving and sort of evolved into whatever it is now.

A/N 2: The first four scenes are flashbacks. Then it switches to the present long enough to introduce another flashback before it stays in the present for the rest of the story.

A/N 3: The pen name at the beginning of each chappy IDs who wrote it. And the parentheses in the author's notes ID the other writer. If we do any during the story, we'll do initials (either FA or AF).

A/N 4: This is another one of the stories gathering dust on my desktop. We started it, but then dropped it in favour of another storyline as _One Amazing Summer_'s sequel, as we weren't very happy with it. If you like this chapter, then I'll post the other four completed chapters. By the way, I haven't abandoned OAS; I just want chapter 4 to be as good as 3 was, but I can't come up with any really good ideas.

Chapter 1

December 1994

"Did you see how shocked Ron and Harry were when I asked you to this thing?" Fred asks me as he spins me into another couple.

"Sorry," I say, looking over my shoulder at a very upset Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies. I turn back to my date. "Yeah. The looks on their faces were priceless."

"I guess George, Lee, and Alicia didn't blab to the whole school."

"Fred, we've officially been a couple for two years; not to mention the casual dating and flirting before then. If they were going to tell, I'm sure they would have done it a long time ago."

"Why did we keep it hidden for so long?"

"Because you didn't want to admit that you could be in love with someone for longer than a week."

"You, my dear, are sadly mistaken. I believe it was _you _who couldn't admit to being in love for more than a week. _I_ have no problem saying that I've been in love with the same woman for six long years."

"Six _long_ years?"

Fred laughs as he dips me. I've just noticed that all the other couples have cleared out of our way. Not that I blame them; we _are_ dancing rather enthusiastically. I bet that if they didn't know that Fred and I were an item before, they definitely know now.

"Angel?" Fred whispers in my ear. The Weird Sisters are playing a slow song now so everyone is moving back to the dance floor. Except Ron and Padma Patil. And Padma's sister Parvati and Harry.

"Yes?" I whisper back.

"Could this night be anymore perfect?"

"Well, there _is_ one way." And without asking me what the one way is, Fred lowers his head to mine and gently kisses me.

"What makes you think that was what I wanted?"

"What else could you have meant?"

"This." And with that, my lips are on his and we're snogging passionately. I think I heard distant cheering somewhere in the background, but I quickly put it out of my mind. We're both out of breath when we pull apart.

Fred looks at me and says the only thing he can. "_Damn_!"

"Well thanks for the compliment, Fred."

We don't say anything else for a few moments, but that's fine with me. It just feels so right being in his arms. Then he breaks the silence. "I love you so much, Angel," he says before frowning over my shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love."

I follow my boyfriend's gaze. "It's Bagman again, isn't it?"

"You know me too well."

"Look, Fred, I've danced with you all night. Go get your money back."

Fred's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Really." Then he gives me a peck on the lips before grabbing George away from Alicia and running towards Ludo Bagman

October 1995

"I know I'm not rich or especially poetic and romantic. And I know that I'm not exactly the type of bloke that your parents wanted you to end up with, but Angelina, I love you more than anyone or anything on earth. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?" Fred asks me on bended knee.

I can't make so much as a squeak, so I merely nod my head as he slips the simple ring onto my finger. "Happy birthday, Angel," he whispers before pulling me in for a deep kiss. And just as he starts to pin me to his four-poster, I pull away. "Angel, what's wrong?" he asks, face full of concern.

"Nothing, love. But could you hand me my wand, please?" Fred raises an eyebrow at me, but hands me the wand. I quickly mutter a few silencing and locking charms. I then perform the contraceptive charm on the both of us. (I didn't want to take any chances; after all, he_ is_ one of seven children.) Afterwards, I cast my wand aside, slip my arms around Fred's neck and give in to the passion and desire that we both share.

April 1996

"Why, Fred? How can you do this to me? To us?" I desperately ask, tears beginning to form in my eyes.

"Angelina, please don't cry; I hate this as much as you do."

"If you hate it so much, then why are you going through with it?"

"Because you're the only thing worth staying here for." He takes my hands in his, blinking back the tears that are welling up in his own brown eyes. "Sweetie, we have the rest of our lives together; two little months are not going to rip us apart. We're not breaking up, so it's not the end of the world."

"Then why does it feel like it?"

"Because that's how strong our rapport is. Whenever I'm away from you, it's feels like the end of the world, no matter how short the distance or the length of time." Despite my tears, I can't help laughing. "Hey! What's so damn funny?" he asks indignantly and with a hurt look on his face.

"Nothing, really. I just remembered you telling me a few months ago that you weren't poetic and romantic. And I didn't know that you knew what a rapport was."

"I guess things changed me. Or, more accurately, you changed me." A few moments of silence go by before I change the subject back to the issue at hand.

"Can't you at least take me with you?"

"I'm sorry, Angel, but you know I can't. You're Head Girl; you have to stay here."

"What if I go to Umbitch's office, spit on my badge and throw it at her?"

"Then you're still Quidditch captain and the team needs you, especially since Harry, George and I are all banned from playing."

"Fred, if I did that, I'd probably be expelled anyway. Me being captain of the team would become a moot point."

"In that case, your parents would kill me for being a bad influence on you. And the whole wizarding world knows that Jake Johnson and Gabrielle Toussaint are _not_ two people that you want angry with you."

"I don't care what they think. I'd give it all up for you, Fred."

"You'd turn your back on your family for me?"

"Yes."

He shakes his head and lets out a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't want you to do that, Angelina. It'd make you no better than Percy."

"Don't compare me to him. Your brother rejected your family for a job, something that isn't worth much. You are everything to me. They're two totally different things."

"Percy's job meant everything to him."

"Oh, shut up! You know what my point is. A job is a job. They're a knut a dozen. But a love like what we share is real. It's worth the sacrifice."

"Angel, read my lips: '_No_.' You can't leave with me. You actually have something left for you here; I don't."

"But if you're gone…" I don't get any further than that before Fred cuts me off with his lips. Typical man: thinks everything can be solved with snogging and shagging.

"Shhh. Enough of all this depressing talk. What's been decided has been decided. And as for the present, lets make our last night together at Hogwarts memorable, eh?" he says when he finally releases me and catches his breath. And even though I want to finish this conversation, want to convince Fred to free me from this miniature Azkaban that Hogwarts has become, I smile and allow him to lead me up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

August 1996

I'm pacing nervously around my spacious bedroom in Le Chateau du Toussaint. My attendants are just sitting around the room staring at me. Finally, Alicia speaks. "Angie! Sit down before you wear a hole in the floor and get your robes dirty."

I stop my pacing long enough to look at all the other women in the room. "I can't do this, guys. I'm too scared. What if I get to the altar and he says 'No'? What if it's just some elaborate prank? That type of thing isn't beneath him."

My twin sister, Abby (we're identical except for our eyes; hers are hazel and mine are brown), just laughed. "And that's why you should go through with it. About fifteen minutes ago, George told me that Fred was being paranoid and was afraid that you'd be the one to say 'I don't.' It's really quite funny, actually."

Alicia's eyes narrow at my sister and Abby notices. "Relax, Leesh, we are just friends. We're both very happy in our current relationships and we've been over far too long to screw them up."

"I trust George's ex-girlfriends about as far as I can throw them. And you being my best friend's sister does _not_ make you an exception," Alicia shot back.

"You two, this is supposed to be my wedding day, not Fight-About-Who-Wants-George Day," I say, a bit annoyed. My statement sends Hermione and Ginny into a fit of giggles.

"Oh admit it, Angelina; you're secretly in love with George, too," Ginny accuses of me, laughing so hard that tears form in her eyes.

"Well, if she isn't, I sure am!" Hermione exclaims, laughing just as hard.

"This had better be a plan to stop my pre-wedding jitters," I warn them all.

"Of course, Angie. We all know that if you and Fred didn't get married, the world would come to an end. We couldn't have _tha_t weighing on our consciences now, could we?" Abby says sarcastically.

"One more word out of you, _Abigail_, and Alicia is my new maid of honour."

"Go ahead and try it; we both know that she can't fit into these robes."

"Hey! Are you calling me fat?" Alicia breaks in.

"You said it, not me," Abby says turning to my best friend.

Ginny, Hermione, Katie, and I are rolling on the floor laughing our arses off at this exchange. Leave it to my best friend and my twin to provide unwarranted comic relief. And they're the "serious" ones (but then, they've both dated George Weasley, so exactly how serious can they be?) Hmm...I wonder what Fred, George and Lee are doing right now.

"You little twig. I could snap you in half." Alicia glares at Abby, who returns her gaze.

"I'd rather be a twig than the whole damn tree."

Yes, it's my wedding, which is taking place at my grandparents' castle in Cognac. My grandfather, being the French Minister of Magic, is presiding over it (because no one in England trusts Fudge). A host of family and friends are here, as well as security to keep out the paparazzi. If my dad wasn't Jake Johnson and my mother wasn't Gabrielle Toussaint, we wouldn't need all this crap. But…my dad _is_ Jake Johnson and my mother _is_ Gabrielle Toussaint and the reality of the situation is that my wedding is this big production for the media despite the measures taken to keep everyone, especially Rita Skeeter and the _Daily Prophe_t, out.

In other words, I'm not pacing around for the reasons that I say I am; I'm not worried that Fred's going to change his mind at the altar. We're already married; Fred and I exchanged vows last week in Jamaica. The real reason I'm pacing is because I resent being put on display for the whole wizarding world to see. Fred hates it too, which is why we eloped. We wanted our special day to be special, not a big circus.

Mrs. Weasley and my mother poked their heads into my room. "Antoinette, it's time for you to walk down the aisle, " my mother says as Mrs. Weasley kisses my cheek and whispers good luck sayings in my ear. (She's always called us by our French middle names.) "If only Annabelle were here to see how beautiful you look."

Annabelle… Audrey… Suddenly, I start crying. I can't believe she brought that up; I'm supposed to be happy today, not blubbering. Audrey Annabelle was my older sister who committed suicide at 19 to escape an abusive relationship. It was hard on everyone, but it hurt Abby and me the most; the three of us were so close that people often thought we were triplets. If it hadn't been for Fred and George (whom Abby was dating at the time), who knows what we would have done. Abby, Alicia, Katie, Ginny, and Hermione all envelop me in a hug.

"Mum, how could you say that to her?" Abby reprimands our mother. That's odd, seeing as she's usually the first one to defend her. She was also the only one of the three of us who never called her "Mum" when we were upset. (To my French-born mother, the ultimate insult is to refer to her as "Mum" instead of its French equivalent, "Maman.") Then she turns to me. "Sugar Quill, it'll be alright," she says using my childhood nickname while rubbing my back soothingly. "She's watching us from heaven right now; not even death could keep her from seeing this." Eventually, I regain my composure, redo my make-up and take Papa's arm as he leads me down the aisle and the 50-piece orchestra starts to play "Here Comes the Bride."

When I finally make it to the altar in the garden, Fred smiles at me and whispers "Déjà vu?"

"Not really; there's too many damn people here," I whisper back.

"Don't worry, Angel. We can get the hell out of here in about twenty minutes and be alone."

"Uh-uh. Sorry to burst your bubble, Weasley, but after the wedding is the reception. And unfortunately, the media _is_ allowed there."

"Fuck."

"That comes after the reception, love," I tease.

"Looking forward to it."

"Ahem." My grandfather clears his throat. Fred and I grin sheepishly and allow him to continue with the ceremony that will undoubtedly be on the front page of the next day's _Prophet_.

July 2000 (present day)

But that was four years ago. Now, I'm 22-years-old and living the life of a muggle supermodel. I hate it so much. In fact, tears are pouring from my eyes as I look around the Cognac chateau that has been in my family for generations.

It's so lonely here. I had to start a new life; there was nothing for me in the wizarding world after the war ended. Everyone lost someone: Ginny lost Draco; Hermione lost Ron _and_ Harry. George died trying to save Alicia, who was murdered anyway. And I lost my whole family: my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, sister and half-brother. That alone is depressing enough, but I lost the love of my life, too.

No, Fred didn't die in the war; quite the opposite, actually. He came home a hero, but the war changed him so much. In fact, I haven't really talked to him since it ended. We've been divorced for almost two years now.

August 1998

I Apparate outside the tiny flat in London where Fred lives now (after the war ended, he packed up his things and moved out), holding the papers I was served with that morning.

"Fred! Let me in!" I yell as I knock frantically on the door. This has to be some kind of mistake; he can't want a divorce. We were so happy together; we had the kind of love that you only hear about in muggle fairytales. This can't be right.

He finally answers the door, looking rather on the dishevelled side. He's wearing boxers and a tee shirt and his hair is tousled. He looks like he just woke up. Now, while it's true that Fred Weasley is definitely _not_ a morning person, three o'clock in the afternoon is a bit extreme, even for him. So that leaves just one scenario: _he's with someone else_. "What do you want?" he asks me crossly. "I'm busy."

My heart plunges into my shoes. "A-a-about the p-p-papers… y-y-you can't r-r-really want a d-d-divorce," I stammer.

Fred folds his arms over his chest. "And why can't I?"

I wish the earth would open up and swallow me right now. "B-b-because you l-l-love me. Right?" I look at him with pleading eyes.

A sadistic grin appears on his lips. He's enjoying this; I can't believe that he likes watching me in this much pain. I suddenly have the feeling that I'm not going to like his answer to my question. "No," he says flatly before slamming the door in my face.

Tears well up in my eyes. Then it's true; after six long years together, Fred and I are history. And there is no chance of us ever getting back together. I don't even want to know who she is; Fred admitting that there is someone else in his life would just be the final nail in the coffin, the last twist of the knife. So I Apparate home and go straight to bed. There, the waterworks finally start.


	2. Chapter 2

When the World Stops

AngelsFred

A/N: Okay, I want to dedicate this chapter to Faye, because her review inspired me to write it during Chem. Lab. I couldn't let her think that Fred was a heartless, sadistic bastard who really wanted to hurt Angelina. So I present to you a newly written Chapter Two (or 1.5, since technically FA wrote Chapter Two a while ago.)

Fred's POV

July 2000

"Fred?! It's eleven o'clock in the morning! Wake up and get your lazy arse out of bed!" a sharp voice halts my dreams. I smile when I hear it.

"Mm-hmm. I love you too," I say, only half-teasingly. Keeping my eyes closed, I slowly raise my head and bring my lips towards the source of the voice and… she pushes me?

"Frederick Matthew Weasley! What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?!"

My eyes snap open instantly. I yelp in surprise. Instead of staring into the endlessly deep brown eyes of my wife, I find myself looking into the sea blue orbs of my younger sister. I don't know why I was so shocked, though. Angelina and I have been divorced for almost two years. Actually, we've been divorced for one year, eleven months, one week, 3 days, 7 hours and…here I glance at the Muggle clock, twenty-six minutes.

"Sorry, Gin. I thought…"

"I know what you thought. It's been two years, Fred. You need to let her go."

I sigh and walk towards the bathroom so that I can shower. I'm sick of this conversation. In the last two years, I've had it with both of my parents, Hermione and now Ginny. I wish everyone would stay the hell out of my life and let me sulk in peace.

"We don't let you sulk because we love you," Ginny says. I didn't realise I said that out loud. "You need to quit beating yourself up about it; after all, you did the only thing you could do, given the circumstances."

I whirl on my heel to face my sister, shower forgotten. "And what was that, Gin? Hurt the only woman I ever loved and destroy my own life in the process?"

"You had to do it! Regardless of how painful it was." Ginny's voice sounds strangely calm, despite the fact that we are thisclose to our infamous Weasley tempers flaring up.

"Gin's right, you know." Hermione walks into my bedroom without knocking. It's bad enough Mum and Ginny do it, but Hermione? "There's a Muggle saying: 'If you love someone, let them go.'"

I always hated her for being a smartarse. Luckily, I happen to know the end of the proverb that she just stated. "Hermione, I do believe you've forgotten something," I add sarcastically. "The old Muggle saying ends: 'If they come back to you, they're yours. And something about moving on if she doesn't come home."

"Being miserable while Angelina is alive is a million times better than being miserable because she's dead. As long as she's happy…" I cut her off.

"Yes, she's alive Hermione and so am I. But we're only shells of our former selves. Neither one of us has been happy for a long time now."

Ginny rolls her eyes at me. "Sod off, Fred. She's been dating the Muggle world's most famous celebrities and you're telling me that she's not happy?"

"Have you never noticed that her relationships don't last for more than two weeks? I'm worried about her."

Ginny sighs. "You've always worried about her. That's why you had to divorce her; you know what the prophecy said." Then she and Hermione leave me to shower and sulk.

Ah, yes. I wish I had never found that damned prophecy. It ruined my life, made my whole world fall apart. I still remember the exact wording of it:

On the night the dark moon rises in the tenth month,

An angel and her sister will fall to earth.

And on that same night,

The angel will ascend back into heaven,

Her blood on the hands of her love.

I hate to admit it, but Ginny and Hermione are right; I had to divorce Angelina. Two things that I didn't want to come to pass would happen if I hadn't. First, I would've murdered Angelina, which is frightening in itself. Every time I think about it, I get sick. And unfortunately, I think about it all the time. And secondly, I would be spending the rest of my life in Azkaban. And judging by the effect it had on Sirius (who stayed sane while there), I don't fancy spending _one night _there.

And so I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm to be depressed for the rest of my life. I almost didn't go though with it. I know it seemed callous of me, slamming the door in her face, but I had to. Even Hermione, Ginny and my parents asked me if that was really necessary. But it was. They didn't see her the look in her eyes when she begged me to tell her it wasn't true. If I hadn't shut the door, I would have taken her in my arms and apologised for everything. And then the prophecy would play out.

I can't take this anymore. I dream about her at night and think about her during the day. I need to see her, touch her, hold her, kiss her, caress her… Well, you get the point. I know she's in France right now; it's where she always went when she was upset. I also happen to know everyone she's ever dated in the last two years. She even experimented with women for a brief period; it didn't work. I've been following and checking up on her ever since we split up. Go ahead and say it; Ginny and Hermione already have. They call me a stalker; I maintain that I'm just worried about her.

I'm just tired of fighting this. I'm going to see her right now. Maybe she'll listen to what I have to say. Ha. Fat chance, Weasley. Would I listen to her if our roles were reversed? Hell, no! I would've hexed first, asked questions later. I guess I'm lucky she left the Wizarding world. I look at the clock in my bedroom. Angelina's hand points to "Home." So she's in Cognac. So why in the bloody hell am I still here? And with that final thought, I Disapparate.

I know it's short, but oh well. (Hey, there's only so much writing one can do during chemistry.) So what did you think Faye? Has Fred redeemed himself?


	3. Chapter 3

When the World Stops

FredsAngel

Disclaimer: Like we said, we don't own it. I own Alex, the character. And before I forget, I don't own MI2, People Magazine or Jennifer Lopez's dress either.

A/N: This was originally chapter 2, but due to Alex writing a new chapter 2 to appease Faye, this is now chapter 3. Because of this, it might not flow as well as it originally did.

Chapter 3

July 2000 (present day)

I have no contact with the magical world now; there's no need to. Angelina Johnson-Weasley no longer exists; she has been replaced by Antoinette Toussaint. All the house-elves have been sent to Beauxbatons so I only use muggle appliances. And the very last spells I cast were the anti-apparition wards and the other security charms that surround Le Chateau du Toussaint. If you asked me where my wand is right now, I couldn't tell you; I probably snapped it in half or something. I actually considered undergoing the Fidelius Charm, but all the people that I'd trust as my secret-keeper are dead. Besides, that would require me to deal with the magical world, and that's something that I don't want to do.

_B-rrrring_. That's my mobile. I don't really want to answer it, but I have to. I look down at the illuminated dial. Shit; it's Alex Daniels, guitarist for Tumultuous and the latest in my string of failed relationships. I dumped him a month ago, but he won't leave me alone. If it wouldn't end up in all the tabloids, I'd have a restraining order slapped on him. Gossip columnists in the muggle world are just as vicious as the ones in the wizarding world; they just can't go to the lengths that wizards and witches can to get their story. "Alex," I groan into the receiver.

"Toni, hi!" he says brightly. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the premiere of _Mission Impossible 2_ next week." Does he not realise that we are over?

"Alex, we've been broken up for a month now. Find someone else."

"Why can't we just go as friends, huh?"

"Two reasons. One: I don't want to get harassed by the paparazzi about the status of our relationship. And two: I can't go anyway; I'll be in New York for a shoot."

"Well, that's perfect. They're doing a bi-coastal premiere on the fifteenth: one is in L.A. and the other is in New York."

Shit. I was hoping to get out of going by having a legitimate excuse. "Alex, no. I don't want to go out with you; if I did, I wouldn't have broken up with you."

"I don't accept that. I think that you're just trying to play your role as the stereotypical hard-to-get diva." Musicians: they always want to get so damn philosophical. They all need to learn that sometimes what you say is exactly is what you mean; there's no metaphor behind it. "Well, I don't play that way. I'm honest about what I want in a relationship. And it goes like this: I want you, I _know_ you want me and –" he doesn't get to finish his sentence because I just hung up on him and throw my phone on the other side of the room. I don't want to listen to him; I've heard it all before: from him and every other guy I've ever dated, save for one (and you know that story).

You know what? Fuck this. I'm too pretty and too young to harp on something as trivial as the break-up of my marriage. Where did I put my mobile? Come next Saturday, I will be attending the premiere of _Mission Impossible 2_ on the arm of People Magazine's sexiest celebrity, wearing a dress so alluring that it will make Jennifer Lopez's Grammy dress look like a nun's habit. "Alex? It's Toni. Good news; I've changed my mind and decided to take you up on your offer."

"I knew you'd come around, sweetie. North Penthouse of the Four Seasons?"

"Is there anywhere else?"

"I'll see you there."

"I'll be waiting." I hang up. Now that wasn't so hard. I just made the deal of a lifetime; I get to go to New York with a hot celebrity to see the premiere of a major motion picture _and_ the promise of great sex while I'm there (which Merlin knows I need). I have the greatest life. So why do I feel like crap?

"So all the gossip is true. Alex Daniels? Tsk, tsk, tsk. I guess you've lowered your standards, Angel," says a voice from behind me and I freeze when I hear it.


	4. Chapter 4

When the World Stops

AngelsFred

A/N: I tried to make my writing style as close to FredsAngel's as possible since she wrote the first two chapters (or 1& 3 now). Unfortunately, she left a cliff-hanger of sorts; so this chapter might sound a little odd. (As close to mine as possible? You use too many big words. And you don't like dialogue. And you don't like fluff.) There's a lot of conversation in this chapter _and_ it's fluffy. Sort of.

A/N 2: This is the first time that something I've written from a female's POV has ended up the way I wanted to. Yay! Go me! Sorry; I had a FA moment. (If you weren't 4 hours away…) FA writes well from the POV of either gender (ha, majoring in music; what a waste of talent), but I just do not understand women at all. (Hey! What about me?) I've spent the better part of 18 years trying to figure you out. You are truly an enigma that boggles the mind in ways I didn't think possible. (Okay, now _I'm_ confused.) Then my job is done. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Chapter 4

My heart stops. What in the hell? I recognise the voice, but I must be going insane; there is no way he can be here. Okay. Just relax, Toni; just breathe. And I slowly turn around to find myself face-to-face with the source of the depression that has ruled my life for the last two years. 

"How'd you find me? And how did you get in? There are security charms and anti-apparition wards for a twenty-kilometre radius around the estate," I say to the redhead in front of me, my voice laced with acid and bitterness.

"An old Muggle trick," he answers, holding up an out-of-shape paperclip. "I assume you know what this is since you've decided to pose as a Muggle, _Antoinette_." He lets out a hollow laugh. "As if one of the Toussaint-Johnson daughters could be a Muggle. And to answer your first question: at twenty-two, your mind works the same way it did at twelve. When you're upset, you head to France; it's the only place you feel safe. Kind of ironic actually, seeing as your whole family was slaughtered in this very castle."

I hate him so much. "You finally got something right," I spit out. "Well, actually, not quite. You see, I used to feel safe in your arms, too, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I haven't had that luxury lately." Shit. I just saw a flicker of pain in his eyes and it felt like someone stabbed _me_ in the heart. That was not supposed to happen; I'm supposed to getting over him, not feeling his heartbreak.

But the hurt disappears as fast as it surfaced and Fred cups my chin and tilts my face up towards his. "Well, don't worry about that anymore," he whispers in his husky, sexy voice. "I promise I'll never leave you again, Angel." 

I feel weak in the knees just listening to the sound of his voice. Ninety-percent of my brain is screaming "Damn it, Toni, you are _not_ allowed to feel this way! You hate him; you don't love him anymore." The other ten-percent is wondering if he looks as good naked as he used to, and _that _part is winning my inner argument. But somehow, I manage to push him away. "Don't touch me and don't call me 'Angel!'"

He looks at me sadly. "Angel –" He gets no further before he feels my hand make contact with his left cheek.

"Damn it, Weasley! What part of 'don't call me Angel' did you not understand?!" My hand might have slapped him of its own accord, but I must admit that it felt damn good to hurt him like he hurt me. For about a nanosecond, anyway; now I feel that stabbing pain in my heart again.

"Angelina Antoinette Toussaint-Johnson-Weasley!" He used my whole name; I can't believe he used my whole name. (Most people never realised that my sisters and I had hyphenated last names.) Even my own parents never called me by my full name when they were angry with me (which was often, in my mother's case). "Will you _please_ just listen to me?" He's begging; no, he's grovelling and it's pathetic. _No, it's not; it's sweet,_ that bloody voice at the back of my mind says.

Well, if I want to get over him, then I have to be just as callous to him as he was to me. And in the exact same tone of voice he used two years ago, I say "No."

"So what you're telling me is that you have time to rendezvous in New York with that brainless hack, Alex Daniels, but you can't listen to me, your own husband?"

I'm fighting to keep my voice cold and unfeeling, but it's hard when Fred's words are eating me up inside. "EX-husband. And what I'm saying is that we've been over for a long time. TWO YEARS, Fred, officially; in reality it's been closer to three! You can't have me sign divorce papers and then expect me to still be waiting when the whore you left me for decides to leave _you_!" 

"Angelina, I haven't been with anyone else! Do you know how hard it was for me to sign those papers before I sent them? Or how much I wanted to die when I saw the look on your face as I slammed the door after I said that I didn't love you? These last two years have been just as much hell for me as they have been for you; probably more."

"Whatever. Look, Fred, it doesn't matter what your reasons for divorcing me were; all that matters is that we haven't been together for a long time and I've gotten over you and found someone better."

"Yeah. Alex Daniels, Brian Stewart, Franco Bugatti, Jason Kennedy, and a bunch of other celebrity 'bad boys.' Daniels was the only one who lasted more than two weeks." He laughed bitterly. "But Lauryn Campbell… I didn't even know that she was your type. Well, now that I think about it, she was exactly your type. But you must have changed in recent years; after all, the Angelina I knew would have sooner kicked someone's ass before they laid a hand on her." He's referring to all the tabloid stories that my brief relationship with Canadian motorbike racer Lauryn Campbell was abusive.

"One: I don't have a type. Two: Lauryn and I have never dated; we were just good friends who liked to go shopping and clubbing together. And she has never, ever hit me; if she had, she'd lying six feet under right now. And three: Alex is a great guy who cares about me a lot; he's not a talentless hack. I really think that he might be the one." I'm lying through my teeth, including the part about Lauryn hitting me. That's what ended our relationship: she accused me of cheating and beat me with a lead pipe. Two weeks later, when I got out of the hospital, I tried to run her over with my Corvette.

Fred snorts. "You most certainly do have a type: tall redheads with brown eyes that could be dead ringers for me. Campbell looks exactly the same way, which leads me to believe that you're lying about the extent of your relationship with her. Finally, I never said he was talentless; I said he was brainless. And there's no way you can be in love with him…" He pauses before adding, "because you love me."

"I most certainly do not," I retort with false indignance. But he sees right through me. Abby was the only person who knew me better than he did. I used to love him for that; now I despise him for it.

"You're lying, Angel. You should stop; it's a bad habit and it doesn't become you. Besides, you suck at it," he says with a bit of a smile on his face. He always has to get a joke in.

"I am _not_ lying! And my name is 'Antoinette' or 'Toni;' _not_ 'Angel!' 'Angelina' is dead; you killed her!"

"Well in that case, let me see if I can bring her back to life," he murmurs and bends his head down. His lips are now millimetres from mine and I involuntarily tilt my head up to close the minuscule amount of space between us. For the briefest moment my mind tells me that this is wrong; that I shouldn't be doing this. But it can't come up with a good enough reason why and it feels so right being in his arms again, so I just succumb. Hell, I'm tired of fighting, anyway. 


	5. Chapter 5

When the World Stops

AngelsFred

A/N: Due to the fact that I added chapter two long after this chapter was written, the timeframes are screwed up. Just try to imagine that they could shag from noon to the next morning, okay. Even though we _know_ it isn't possible. What's wrong, Dee? You haven't said anything yet. (I'm totally speechless.) Well, that's a first. (Shut up.) Make me. (I can do that. Easily.) I thought you wanted to keep this PG-13. (That's not what I meant; get your mind out of the gutter. ::sighs:: And they say _I'm_ the perverted one.) 

A/N 2: Another problem we encountered with adding a chapter was that it was from Fred's POV. Now since we very well can't have one chapter from Fred's POV and the rest of the story from Angie's, after the other prewritten chapter is posted, I will write anything from Fred's POV and FA will do anything from Angelina's.

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Chapter 5

The Next Morning

Fred's POV

I feel something stir next to me and smile in spite of myself. Remembering the events of yesterday morning, I open my eyes. Thankfully, I find myself looking at 45 kilos (A/N: 110 pounds; I think that's a good size. It's how much FA weighs, at any rate.) of the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on (if it had been Ginny again, I'd have AKed myself). Merlin, she's beautiful asleep. In fact, she looks just like an angel. No wonder her parents named her that; she looks so angelic and peaceful. 

Last night was so amazing and perfect. It's been such a long time since I've had sex like that (or any sex at all, but that's not the point). I'm not sure what made it so great, though; maybe it was because I was with the love of my life for the first time in years. It felt so good hearing her scream my name again. Whatever it was, it was fantastic.

It was different than the love we usually made when we were married. For example, we actually stayed in the bed. No floor, shower, kitchen counter or anything like that. No unconventional positions that we learned from the copy of the _Kama Sutra_ that we received as a wedding present from our friends. No sneaking out to the beach or to the park. I still remember the time we were arrested by a Muggle constable. It was our own fault, though; we probably shouldn't have been shagging on the roof of a library. Or, at the very least, not without an Invisibility Cloak. A very adventurous relationship we had, eh? Ah, memories.

But it seemed like she was still trying to fight me, like maybe she was afraid that surrendering to her emotions would make her weak. And that's just not true; Merlin knows she's the strongest woman I've ever met, both physically and emotionally. I know that if our roles were reversed, I couldn't take it. Hell, I'd be in bloody therapy if I thought Angelina didn't want me. And me showing up unannounced like that couldn't be good if she's trying to get over me. 

Wait a minute. What am I thinking? I don't want Angelina to get over me; I just want Angelina. Her lips, her eyes, her hair, her body. Merlin, her body… I want to have children with her, grow old with her, do everything we planned to do before I saw that damn prophecy. 

I just noticed our current position; I should've known that we'd be lying like this. My arms are around my wife's – I mean my EX-wife's – waist while her head is buried in my neck, my favourite position. Yes, I admit it. I, Frederick Matthew Weasley, enjoy cuddling. So long as the lucky witch in my arms is Angelina Johnson-Weasley.

Speak of the devil. She just murmured in her sleep which means she's going to wake up soon. Normally, I'd say something like "Sleeping Beauty awakes," but I'd rather just look at her right now. I'd rather just think about her. After all, there used to be a time when we could express our feelings without words. I gaze at her and she suddenly opens her eyes. Somehow, I manage to ignore the "Sleeping Beauty" crack. Instead, I say: "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you're sleeping?" 

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Angelina's POV 

I yawn, like I usually do at daybreak. What the hell? It feels like there are two arms encircling my waist with a light, but firm grip. That's Fred's favourite post-sex position; he told me that it was because he never wanted to let me go, but I've always been convinced that he just wanted it to be easier for him if he woke up horny in the middle of the night. But that would mean we… Nah.

I open my eyes and find my ex-husband looking back at me, love and adoration reflected in his brown eyes, so much like mine. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you're sleeping?" he asks me. I only hope that I look nowhere near as horrified as I feel. OK, take deep breaths. You're imagining this; you're still dreaming. 

I close my eyes and slowly reopen them. Damn it! He's still there. So that means… I let out a groan. We didn't.

"Oh, yes we did, Angel. Three times." Shit. I didn't realise that I just said that out loud.

"Fuck." Even though the events of last night have just been confirmed, I still don't want to believe it. After all, when you finally accept that your relationship is over, the worst thing you can do is sleep with your ex. OK, fine. I just don't want to get hurt again; I don't take rejection well. I mean, I've denied my whole life after my divorce. If Fred leaves me again… I might not have a life to deny. 

Fred smirks. "Is that a request for round four?" he asks playfully and pulls me closer to him. God, it's electrifying being this close to him again.

I disentangle myself from his arms and get out of bed. "No, Fred, it's not."

He stands up and looks in my eyes. Merlin, he has a gorgeous body. "How can you not remember what we did last night? It's not like you were sloshed."

"Maybe it was so bad that I blocked it out?" I ask with a bit of a grin. Bloody hell. Where did that joke come from? I'm not in the mood for humour right now.

"Judging by the sounds you made, I'd say that wasn't the case. But we could always try again and find out," he says with a suggestive eyebrow raised. "What do you say?"

"No, Fred. We can't. I've finally gotten over you; it wouldn't do for me to fall back into that trap," I sigh.

"Who says love is a trap?"

"I never said that love is a trap; I said that YOU were the trap."

"So what are you really saying?"

"Put your clothes on and go back to England."

"Not without you."

"Do it, Fred."

"Is that what you really want?" You idiot! Of course it's not what I really want! I want you!

"Yes." And with that one simple word, my heart shatters like a window that had been mistakenly hit by a bludger. And the look on Fred's face mirrors the pain that I'm feeling.

"Are you sure?" No!

"Sweet Merlin, Weasley! Yes, I'm sure!"

Fred runs his finger down my cheek. "You're cute when you lie."

I swat his hand away, more playfully than I intended. "What makes you think I'm lying?"

"You said 'Sweet Merlin.' If you used a wizarding swear, then you must obviously want a wizard. And seeing as I'm the only wizard around for a twenty-kilometre radius, you must want me." He envelops me in a hug and then his lips begin to devour mine with a hunger and intensity like I've never felt. He releases me. "Mmm," he moans. "Come on, Angel; it's cold out here and the bed's warm." I allow him to lead me back to my bed (hey, I said I was tired of fighting it) where we get lost in our love for a fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh time.


	6. Chapter 6

When the World Stops

FredsAngel

Disclaimer: I'm not going through the whole "I-don't-own-Harry-Potter" thing because you already know that. (Hate to correct you, Dee, but you just did.) Cállate, Alex! Anyway, _Playboy_ is owned by Hugh Heffner, _Hustler_ is Larry Flint's and _Penthouse_ belongs to whomever the hell it belongs to. (I didn't even know who did _Hustler_. Is there something you need to tell me?) Real funny. The only reason I knew that is 'cause I watched _People_ _vs. Larry Flint_ once. (Riiiight.) ::FredsAngel points to door:: Out. ::AngelsFred sticks out tongue before leaving:: Now where was I? Cinquanta Ristorante belongs to Silvio Gamba. 

A/N: I'd like to apologise for chapter 5. AF is sexually repressed and the only way he can release it is to write down his fantasies. (One: I'm not repressed. Two: If I was [which I'm not], I wouldn't be if you had moved into my apartment. And three: I know you're just doing this because I told the whole fanon world how much you weigh.) I'm very happy with my weight, thank you. But you're real lucky I didn't catch it before posting. Otherwise… And you're still repressed.

A/N 2: Cinquanta becomes a recurring theme starting with this chapter. Since Angie is currently in New York and Cinquanta is my favourite eatery in NYC, it's become her favourite restaurant in the States. It's also ridiculously expensive so I thought it fitting that Alex would suggest that he and Angie eat there. 

A/N 3: _One Amazing Summer_ has been suspended indefinitely. I _will_ finish it, but I need some ideas for chapter 4 (I just deleted the latest crappy version). Give me some ideas in your reviews. Or if you want, I can completely ignore Lee and George and post another Fred/Angelina chapter. Let me know when you review. Or you can e-owl me. 

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Chapter 6

~A Week Later~

I. Am. Exhausted. I need sleep, but I'm not going to get any. Between shoots, interviews, Alex's overactive sex-drive, and trying to avoid Fred (I swear he is stalking me), I am at the breaking point. _Playboy_, _Penthouse_ and _Hustler _have all offeredme a lot of money to pose nude for them. Normally, I'd say "No," but Alex is pushing for me to do the_ Playboy _spread; he thinks it's a great opportunity. Or as he says, "You have a beautiful body, Toni; it's a crime not to show it off." Besides I have friends that have done _Playboy_ and they said that the photos are tastefully and professionally done. But I'm too tired to think about how much money I'll make by allowing naked pictures to be taken of me. I just want to lie down and sleep for a month.

What time is it? Oh thank Merlin, it's only eight o'clock. I don't have to meet Alex at Cinquanta for another two hours. Just enough time to take a nap before dinner…

"Toni! Toni! Wake up!" Alex's voice yells in my ear. What the hell? We still have two hours before our reservation, so why is he here?

"Alex, I'm tired. I'll see you at ten." I'm going back to sleep. But before I can drift back in to dreamland, he shakes me fully awake. 

"Toni, it's after eleven now." What is he going on about? There's no way I could've slept through dinner; I just got back to the hotel. Oh, he's still speaking. "You never showed up at the restaurant and I was worried. And when you didn't answer your mobile or your phone in the room, I got really panicky."

"Alex, I'm really sorry about standing you up. How can I make it up to you?" I ask, knowing full well that he's going to want A LOT of sex tonight to "make it up" to him. I'm already dreading it. It's not that Alex is horrible in bed; quite the contrary. He just wants it all the time. More than four times a day is going to bloody kill me.

"Just relax and get some sleep; you're overworked. Maybe you should go to the hospital where you won't be bothered." Well, _that_ was an unexpected response. Why can't I fall in love with this guy? He's perfect. If Fred were here, he'd say "Because perfection is overrated" or something equally stupid. Dammit, Angie! I mean Toni. I mean… Aw, hell. I don't know what I mean; this Alex/me/Fred situation has me so confused that I don't know who I am anymore. Or rather, who I want to be. I like being a Muggle and I like being famous for something other than my name. But on the other hand, I miss being a witch and being famous for whom you go out with and how you look is almost as weird as being famous for who your parents were. And Harry thought no one understood how he felt.

"Don't be silly. Honestly, I'm fine. Like you said, I'm overworked and tired. I'll be fine. If I go to the hospital, I'll come off as a weak and fragile diva in the rags. I don't even want to know what the public will say about me."

"They'll say that the future Mrs. Alex Daniels works too damn hard and deserves to relax."

"Then why not just send me to a –" I shut my mouth mid-sentence. Something about Alex's last sentence just sounded out of place. "Alexander Christopher Daniels, are you proposing to me?"

"Not right now, but I intend to someday. But," he lies down beside me on the bed "if I was, what would your answer be?"

"Ask me in another nine months when we've been together for a year and picked up on one another's bad habits. Then maybe I'll have a better answer for you." I'm lying, but he can't tell. My answer would be a resounding "No," even if I weren't hung up on Fred. I've done the marriage thing once; it didn't work out and I have no intention of ever doing it again.

Alex grins at me. He reminds me a lot of Fred when he smiles. Actually he reminds a lot of Fred period. Same chocolate-brown eyes, same mischievous nature. The hair could use some work, though; flaming red is so much sexier than orange. "Ah, yes, my girlfriend; always so damned practical." (A/N: AF: Ah, yes, my girlfriend; soon to be my EX-girlfriend if she doesn't stop cracking jokes about my hair colour.)

"It's not my fault you're a daft American."

"Well, you need to learn how to live, you uptight European."

"I'd rather be uptight than to have no common sense."

"I have common sense."

"You do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

We go on like that for a good ten minutes until he begins to tickle me mercilessly. "I'll stop if you admit that I have common sense."

"Never!" I exclaim from my position on the bed. As overworked and tired as I am, I must admit that this is fun. Eventually, I'll say it, but not before he gets tired of tickling me and admits defeat. Then we'll shag our brains out and have a good laugh in the morning over some coffee and fruit. And amusing as this is, it's still sort of boring. Probably because it's so predictable.

Ironic that I would use the term "predictable" to describe an aspect of my life; after all, the last week has been anything but. I mean, first I get back together with Alex. Then my ex-husband shows up at my home and we end up in bed. Several times. 

I sigh. I told Fred that we couldn't be together anymore and I stand by my decision. But I miss him like mad. Alex and I don't really think on the same wavelength. Our personalities complement each other, but we don't have that mental connection like the one I had with Fred. When he isn't in a playful mood, Alex is so hard to read. With Fred, I could usually tell what he was thinking, no matter his mood. I even used to finish his sentences. Annoyed the hell out of George, it did. ("You can't do that, Angie! That's my parlour trick.") Like he never used complete Abby's and Alicia's statements. 

I look down at my sleeping lover. He's snoring, not loudly, but it's still enough to distract me from my thoughts. _Fred never snored_, that blasted voice at the back of my mind taunts. Hmm. I wonder what he's doing right now. No, I don't. _Yes, you_ _do_, the voice says back. _You miss him, too._ All right, already. I admit it. Now what do you want me to do about it? _Go to him, you git! Apologise for everything and beg him to take you back._ Not going to happen. Toni Toussaint does not beg. _No, but Angelina Johnson-Weasley does if it means she'll get her husband back._ I won't do it. _Fine, then. End up with Daniels. Have boring, predictable sex and wake to his bloody snoring every morning. See if I care._ I'll do that then. _Fine._ Fine. And with that final thought, I drift off to sleep, barely noticing that Alex's arms encircling my waist with a light but firm grip.

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I know it's short, but I wrote this a while ago. And my wireless signal keeps going out in the dorm, so if I'm on the 'Net, I'm probably in the library. Even as I edit this, the clock reads 2:12 AM and I'm actually supposed to be studying for my three midterms that I have to take tomorrow (well, today). But I'm sick of studying, so I thought I'd take a break so I could this have up by 8:30 AM EST.

Okay, no more excuses. My next update probably won't be until at least November 2nd 'cause I've got to get ready for Homecoming and I'm going home this weekend. AF will probably put chapter 7 up before then and if I finish chapter 8 early, I'll have him put it up, too. BTW, we have absolutely no idea how long this fic is going to be, but we have finished the last chapter. Right now, it's slated as chapter 12, but I'm pretty sure that's going to change. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

FredsAngel & AngelsFred

Disclaimer: Vera Wang owns herself. Chinese Laundry belongs to whoever owns it and Tiffany and Co. belongs to…Tiffany, I guess. We don't own Mokenstef's "He's Mine," either.

A/N FA: We're back after a long hiatus. Let's see… Since the last time we met, my college's football team has lost its Homecoming…I skipped work and ran into my manager at Wal-Mart… Wait, you don't want to hear about my boring life; you just want to read the story. We will return you to your regularly scheduled chapter after these words from our sponsors. (AF: Read and review or else.) We now return you to _When the World Stops_, already in progress.

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Angelina's POV

I walk into Vera Wang's chic Manhattan boutique. I'm here for a dress fitting. Normally, the talented Miss Wang only does bridal gowns, but she happily agreed to design a dress for me to wear to the gala premiere.

Hanging on a mannequin at the very back of the shop is the most elegant dress I have ever seen in my life. It's a scarlet floor-sweeping halter with a deep V-neck that comes down to the dummy's waist. It's made of some kind of shimmery material that appears to have flecks of gold in it. But the accessories are the real story. In a case beside the gown, is a pair of Chinese Laundry shoes (also in scarlet) with rhinestone buckles. And next to the shoes is a ruby necklace and earring collection encased in a gold setting.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Vera says in my ear. "You'll look fabulous, Toni. When Alex sees you in that, you'll have a diamond ring on your finger in no time." I roll my eyes and sigh. Why does everyone assume I want to get married and "settle down?" I've been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. I'm not bloody Elizabeth Taylor; once was more than enough. "What's with you?"

"I'm only twenty-two for fuck's sake, Vera. That's too young to be thinking about marriage." 

"Damn,' she says and we both laugh. "Just promise me that if you two get engaged, I'll get to design the wedding gown and the bridesmaid dresses."

"I promise." I feel sort of guilty lying to her like that. After all, I have no intention of ever marrying Alex and it's wrong to lead such a great person on like that.

"Good. Now, it should fit unless you've gained or lost weight in the past week." She looks at me as if appraising my body. "Damn," she says again, but this time neither one of us laughs. "Have you been eating?"

"Of course I have. I'm not American, you know; I believe in being healthy."

"Yeah, right. You're an awful liar, Toni. How hard have you been working?"

"Put it this way: lately, I haven't had the energy to fall asleep."

Vera groans and shakes her head. "That's not good at all; you were a toothpick to begin with. Follow me and I'll see how many alterations I have to make before you head back to the hotel and get some sleep. And eat something dammit!"

Suddenly, we hear the ringing of chimes that announce customers entering the boutique. Vera and I both whirl around and face two girls that couldn't be more than twenty. Well, actually one _is_ twenty and the other nineteen. I recognised them immediately: Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. But what the hell are they doing in New York?

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Fred's POV

I glance at the Muggle LCD. 1:42 PM. I've slept all day. Again. Sleeping is the only thing I've done all week. Ever since Angelina told me that she couldn't see me anymore. It sickens me to know where she is right now: in an expensive New York penthouse. More specifically, in an expensive New York penthouse suite whose only occupant happens to be Alex Daniels. The thought of him making love to her disgusts me. Actually the thought of _anyone_ making love to her (with the exception of me) nauseates me.

It's not fair. I have money, looks, and I genuinely care about her. What the hell does that insufferable git have that I don't? _Angelina_, the voice at the back of my mind says, tormenting me to no end. But he doesn't really have her; she doesn't love him. Or if she does, it's nowhere as strong as the love she has for me. 

I need to get my mind off her so I turn on the radio. Not the wireless, but the Muggle one that Angie gave me when we were twelve. I miss those days; we were so carefree and innocent back then. An early 90's R&B song comes on and its lyrics eerily remind me of the state of my relationship (or lack thereof) with my ex-wife.

__

He might be doing you, but he's thinkin' about me  
So lady think about another lover  
And go find another brother  
I know he's my man, he's holding my hand  
It feels good when he calls my name  
Don't you wish you had the same  
Feeling this stud's working your stuff  
Till he thinks about mine  
Now he's feelin' real high, you ask why, he's mine  
  
1-Tell you something, it just ain't cool  
Never fall in love with a man who don't love you  
Oh, I wouldn't waste my time,  
Tellin' you something wrong.  
You've been with him one night  
And now he's comin' home  
  
He's mine, you may have had him once  
But I got him all the time  
(You can't sleep at night)  
He's mine, you may have had him once  
But I got him all the time  
(Don't try to dry your eyes)  
He's mine, you may have had him once  
But I got him all the time  
(I got him all the time)  


I switch the receiver off. I refuse to accept that she wants him. Her heart belongs to me, no matter what she says. I smile. She looked so gorgeous when she was lying to me. She didn't think I noticed that her voice was shaking, that her heart was breaking. I glance at the clock again. Exactly 2:00. Let's see…There's a five-hour time difference, so that means it's about 8:00. She should be awake by now; she's a morning person. During seventh year, I was tempted to tell her to go out with Wood when she woke us up for practise at 5:00 AM.

I take a shower and head downstairs. I'm hungry; might as well make a sandwich. Mum and Dad are visiting my aunt and uncle in Wales. And there's a note for me from Ginny and Hermione on the kitchen table.

__

Fred,

We went to New York to visit an old friend. We'll be back in a couple of days with a present for you.

Lots of love,

Gin and Mione

I smile again. Well, well, well. Looks like my sister and her best friend have taken my problems upon themselves. Sandwich forgotten, I head upstairs to clean my room. Can't let Angelina see it in its current state; she'll kill me.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

FredsAngel

A/N (and Disclaimer): I've not a clue who the founders of Beauxbatons were. Aiglon is one of the four houses listed at Beauxbatons Academy (the other three are Renardue, Loupard, and Lincornet), which can be found at avidgamers.com. I hope they don't mind. My fellow members of Tumultuous and I own ourselves. And I'm sure it will be painfully obvious that I don't have a thing about sewing. 

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I must be seeing things. Surely, the redhead and the brunette carrying bags from Tiffany's couldn't be my former sister-in-law and her best friend. After all, they'd have no reason to be in New York. Unless… I let out a groan. They both live at the Burrow…and so does Fred. He's probably told them everything that's gone on between us. Therefore, they must be here to talk to me. Or maybe they're on a ridiculously expensive shopping trip (I hope). Judging from the amount of bags they're carrying, they spent a small fortune at Tiffany and Co.

"You know who they are, Toni?" Vera asks me. She's in just as much awe as I am, but for a different reason. After all, she thinks Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley are fictional characters from a book, not real life people who walk into her exclusive boutique. No, she's startled because two incredibly young girls walked into her shop (which specialises in wedding dresses, of all things), clutching bags in the unmistakable blue of Tiffany and Co., and she can't pinpoint which famous family they're from.

"Well, do you?" she whispers again. I need to answer but what am I supposed to say? 'That's Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. I'm sure you've heard all about their friend Harry Potter.' She'd call Alex and the two of them would have me in a mental hospital quicker than I can say 'I'm Angelina Johnson.' 

"They're…old friends." That should work. Oh please, do not let them call me 'Angelina,' not while Vera is here. Wait, what am I worried for? We're all former Head Girls; they have better sense than that.

"I told you it was her, Gin. Now pay up," Hermione says to Ginny as her companion reluctantly hands over a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Then she turns to me. "How have you been, Toni? We haven't heard from you in _forever_." Since when has two years been 'forever?' Or more to the point, since when has Hermione used exaggeration?

Dammit! She spoke to me and I can't very well call her by name. What is Hermione's middle name? It's something really common that starts with a 'J,' but I can't put my finger on it. It's right on the tip of my tongue. I'm going to take a stab in the dark here and I pray that I'm right. "Just fine, Jane. What about you two?"

"Perfect. Except _that_ ditz" she says, pointing at Ginny "didn't believe that it was you walking here. Where's your car?"

My car. A 1996 Corvette convertible that my parents gave me after I got the letter that declared me both Gryffindor Quidditch Captain _and_ Head Girl. Abby got one, too, for the same reason. They were so proud of us. (After all, how many parents can say that all their children were both Quidditch Captain and Head Girl?) Whereas my car was painted scarlet and gold in honour of Gryffindor, Abby's was powder blue and silver for Aiglon, her house at Beauxbatons. Fred drove it more often than I did; said he deserved it after learning to drive on his father's old Ford Anglia.

Vera looks at me quizzically. I know what she's thinking; why in the hell would my car be in New York when I live in France? As a Muggle, she wouldn't realise that my auto can fly. "It's home. In France. You know, where I _live_." Damn, that sounded harsh. Lucky for me, Ginny and Hermione laugh it off.

"Funny, An-toinette," Ginny says. Shit. So much for them being smart enough not to call me by my given name in front of Muggles. Thank Merlin my mum named me after an aunt whose name began with 'An.' Otherwise, I would have a difficult time trying to explain my ex-sister-in-law's screw up.

Vera looks at me. "I had the shop closed for the entire day for this," she says. Now I really feel bad about Gin and Mione showing up like this. "You go catch up with your friends." I nod. "Call me later this afternoon when you're ready to have the dress altered." And with that final statement, she disappears in the back.

"Oh, were we interrupting something?" Ginny asks, putting on her most innocuous face. It's the same one Fred and George used after they did something to Alicia, Abby, Katie, or me. It annoyed the hell out of me on them and it's infuriating me on Ginny. 

"Drop the innocent act, you two," I snap. "What are you doing here?"

They hold up their bags. "Shopping. We heard such good things about Tiffany's…" Hermione starts, but changes her statement after receiving a glare from me. "Fred's been in a funk all week and he won't tell us anything. So we reckoned it had something to do with you. And since you were in New York…" Ginny cuts her off.

"Why are you interrogating us? The real question isn't 'why are we in the States?' It's 'why in the bloody hell are you in a boutique owned by a designer that specialises in wedding dresses?' No wonder my brother has been ready to AK himself! Whatever happened to 'if anything happens to Fred, I'll never remarry', huh? Tell me that!"

I look over my shoulder to make sure that Vera hasn't come out after hearing Ginny's outburst. "Keep your voice down!" I hiss. "Do you want Vera to hear everything?" She starts to open her mouth again, but I beat her to it. "No, I am not marrying Alex! I just had that conversation with Vera! I'll explain it over lunch. But first, I need to have my dress altered. I've lost weight and, judging by Vera's assessment earlier, I've lost a lot."

"Well, you look good," Ginny says, trying to make small talk. Her face is no longer flushed with the anger she had been expressing less than a minute ago.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Don't lie to her, Weasley." She turns to me. "You look haggard and emaciated. Whatever diet you're on, get off of it; it's horrible. Besides, you were a bloody beanpole in the first place."

Damn. I forgot she was a mediwitch now. "I'm not on a diet. I'm just tired and overworked."

"Whatever. I'm picking the restaurant. I heard about this neat little place called Cinquanta. Apparently it has a buffet. And we are going to force you to eat, even if it kills the three of us."

"Fine. I'll meet you there at 1:00. Now go so I can get my dress refitted." I watch them head out the door and Disapparate with a very loud crack. Shit. The whole block must have heard that. 

I walk towards the back of the store and call Vera's name. "Come on in," she calls. She turns around and faces me. "What happened to your friends?"

"They had more shopping to do. I told them I'd meet them for lunch at 1:00. After all, I still need my dress altered and you have wedding dresses to design for far more important people."

"Oh come off it, girl. You know the only person more important than the 'World's Sexiest Celebrity's Future Wife' is the 'World's Sexiest Celebrity' himself."

"Vera, we've been through this," I say as I put the gown on and step onto the stool. "I'm…"

"Not going to marry Alex. I know, I know." A pin stabs me and she ignores my yelp of pain. "Can't a designer wish?" Another pin pricks me. "Will you stay still? We'll be here all day if you don't."

I groan and roll my eyes. "You know what?" I say. "I hate this. I really hate this."

"You ought to be used to it by now, considering what your line of work is," she answers.

"Don't remind me." 

"What's wrong with you? Do you not know how many women would kill to have your life? You get to wear nice clothes and have talented, sexy boyfriends for a living."

"They can have my life; I'm sick of it anyway. Nobody understands you or gives a damn about what you're really like underneath all the Gucci and Versace. Or off the arm of the handsome boyfriend, who understands you about as well you understand him. Which is none at all."

"He loves you, you know. Or at least that's what he told Mandalynn, Brandon, and Daniella."

"How do you know what he told them?"

"It's all over the tabloids, hun. Besides Daniella told me when she was in here to drop off the dress design for her wedding."

"Yeah? Alex told me that Jay finally got up the balls to ask her. It's about time. According to him, they'd been together since grade school." Daniella, the bassist for Tumultuous, has a peculiar off-again/on-again relationship with Canadian actor and Seeker, Jason Kennedy. I happened to be one of his brief flings between break-ups. Between that and Daniella being Alex's best friend, I probably know more about their relationship than the two of them do. 

Then we get back to the original subject after a few moments of silence. "I can't believe you don't want to marry him," Vera says while continuing to pin up my dress.

"He just thinks he loves me; he doesn't really know what he wants."

"Like you do," she retorts sarcastically.

"I resent that remark. I know exactly what I want." 

"And what is that?" Fred. He's all I want, no matter how much I try to fight it. My thoughts keep drifting to him. In fact, right now I'm wondering what he's doing. I hope he's thinking about me because all I do is think about him. "Ah, silence. So either you're lying or…" Her voice trails off. "You're in love with someone else, aren't you? An ex-boyfriend I'll bet. So who is he?" Wow, she's perceptive, isn't she? But I'm going to have this conversation with Ginny and Hermione later, and Vera doesn't even know the half of it, so I'm not going to tell her.

"I'd rather not talk about it." 

"Fine. Be that way." It's amazing what this woman can do. She hasn't stopped working once throughout the conversation. "Okay, I'm done now. Put on the shoes and walk around a bit, so I can see the full effect and make any more changes." I do as she requests. "Hmm, you'll need some stronger double-sided tape to keep you from flashing everyone. Though some people might not see it as a bad thing," she says while raising an eyebrow.

I know what she's getting at and I'm still not going to tell her anything. "He's not going to be there to see me flash everyone." _Please make her drop the subject_, I silently plead. Thankfully, she does.

"So where are you meeting your friends for lunch? Wait, don't answer that; let me guess. Hmm… Cinquanta?" I nod. "I just don't get you, Toni. Three of New York's best restaurants are located in your hotel and you refuse to eat in any of them. What's so great about Cinquanta, anyway?"

"It's casual atmosphere. As classy as it is, it still has that air of relaxation around it." She nods. "Can I go now?" 

"Yeah. I'll take the pins out and sew everything tonight and you can pick it up Saturday afternoon in time for no one to see what you're wearing to the premiere."

She is such a jewel. "Thanks, Vera. You're a jewel."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just remember me if you marry that ex-boyfriend of yours," she says with a wink.

I take the gown off gingerly, so as not to lose any of the pins or mess up the dress in any way. After all, I don't want anything to happen to it before I get to have all eyes on me at the show. I walk out of the back room and into the main boutique. I check behind me to make sure that Vera didn't follow me out. I pray that I still remember how to Disapparate. It shouldn't be that hard, though; after all, I passed my Apparition test with Distinction in France, where the Ministry is stricter than Britain's by every stretch of the imagination. 

I take a deep breath and pull out my wand. I need head back to the hotel for a quick shower and to change clothes before I go to the dreaded lunch meeting with Ginny and Hermione.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

At 12:55 PM…

I pull up to the curb of Cinquanta and hand the keys to my rental car, a black Mazda Miata, to the valet. (After my conversation with Ginny and Hermione I went out and got one.) He asks me for my autograph and I oblige. It's so exhilarating when some recognises you. I've always felt that way, though I must admit that being famous for how you look is a lot different than being famous for your skills at Quidditch (A/N: Angie played for the Harpies before her split from Fred). 

Okay, time for a quick spot check. I pull out my mirror. Hair still in place, makeup isn't running, no lipstick on my teeth… All right, then. I look down at my clothes. The scarlet pinstripes of my suit are straight. My Louis Vuitton sandals and purse match perfectly. My shoes and the cut of my suit make my already statuesque frame look taller and thinner than it's 1.86 metres (A/N: 5' 11") and 45 kilos. Damn, I look good.

It's funny how concerned I am with looks now; I never used to be. I chuckle to myself; the way I'm primping, you'd think Fred was going to be here. I guess it's because whatever happens, it'll get back to him via my lunchtime companions.

I walk into the restaurant and Silvio fawns all over me. Unfortunately, being a wizard himself, he slips up and calls me "Mrs. Johnson-Weasley" instead of "Ms. Toussaint." Luckily, no one hears him. But I notice that many of the male patrons are staring at me and the women are staring daggers at me. I've officially changed my mind; it's not fun when people recognise you. At least it's not when you're a pretty young woman in Muggle America.

Silvio leads me toward a private table in the back of the restaurant where Ginny and Hermione sit, respectively sipping espresso and coffee. When they look up at me, their jaws drop to the floor.

I sit down. "Silvio, can you have a waiter bring me a cappuccino, please?" After he runs off, I turn to my former sister-in-law and her best friend. "What?"

"You don't look like the Angie we knew. You're dressed to the nines. I expected you to walk in here wearing something along the lines of ripped jeans, combat boots, and a Sex Pistols T-shirt. You know, something casual. Like what you were wearing this morning," Hermione answers after she finally closes her mouth.

"Well, this isn't exactly a casual restaurant, Hermione. Despite the fact that it tries to be."

"You've never been one to care. But _that_," Ginny pipes up, gesturing at my carefully pulled-together ensemble, "looks like something the CEW of a billion Galleon-a-year company would wear. Actually, it looks like something Mione would wear."

I expect Hermione to throw something at Gin, but she doesn't. Instead, she just nods in agreement. "It does, actually. It's classy and the cut flatters your body. What designer is that?"

Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought. My ex-husband's name hasn't been mentioned once. But then I haven't been here very long. "Why? Do you want one?"

She crosses her legs and takes another sip of her coffee. "Of course I do; as a mediwitch, I need something that commands respect. It's so well tailored, I'd swear that it was from Gladrags. That is, if I didn't know any better."

"I don't think Donna Karan works for Gladrags in her spare time."

"I thought she only designed street wear for teenagers."

"You thought wrong." 

A waiter comes over to the table with my cappuccino and two menus. "Here's your cappuccino, Ms. Toussaint. Extra cinnamon."

"Thanks, Anthony. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me 'Toni?'"

"I'll only do it if you do the same."

"Haven't you heard that the customer is always right, Tony?"

"Of course, Ms. Toussaint."

"What did I just tell you?"

Anthony leans over to whisper in my ear and his wavy brown hair tickles my neck. "Just between you and me, _Toni_, Silvio would have my hide if he heard me call you by name." 

I slip him a twenty. "Here. Take Christina to a movie after work."

He looks at the money in his hand. "This is double the amount you usually give me!" he exclaims, albeit quietly.

"I know. I couldn't do it last time since Alex was here."

"Alex Daniels is jealous of _me_? The world is coming to an end."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Christina is giving me dirty looks from across the restaurant so you had better go." I'm kidding, of course; she's really taking orders at another table.

He bats his eyelashes at me. "Oh, but I prefer it over here in the company of you three beautiful women."

"Go, Tony."

"If I must," he says, winking before heading to the next table in his station.

For the second time today, Ginny and Hermione stare at me gaping like fish. "Oh for the love of Merlin. What is it now?

Ginny answers. "Does Alex know you flirt with all the cute waiters?"

"Yeah, he knows. But Anthony is the only one I really flirt with." I chuckle before adding, "It makes Alex insanely jealous. It's incredibly funny."

"Who exactly is Christina?"

"His girlfriend; the green-eyed brunette over there. He's saving up to buy her an engagement ring. She deserves it; she's a nice girl. And unlike Alex, she's okay with my good-natured banter with Anthony."

"So why do you flirt with him out of all the handsome waiters in this place?"

"Because his name is Tony, too. And because he reminds me of…" I stop when I realise what I was about to say. 

"He reminds you of Fred, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, personality-wise. And before you say it, Alex does, too." Damn. I was worried they'd bring him up and I did it instead. Damn, damn, damn.

Sensing how uncomfortable I was, Hermione changed the subject. "So what's good here?" she enquires.

"Why are you asking me?" What a stupid question, Angelina. It's obvious you come here a lot.

"The way you flirted with the waiter and how you knew all about his relationship with his girlfriend. The fact that he knew you wanted extra cinnamon in your cappuccino and he only brought two menus. If you didn't spend a lot of time here, I'd be worried you had a stalker."

"True. To answer your question, everything. But since you both are vegetarians, I'd stick with the pasta."

"All right then. What are you having?"

The most delicious pasta in the world. Why do think it's the one of the few restaurants in New York I eat at? "You'll see," I say with a smirk.

"Fine. Be that way."

"I will."

At that instant, Anthony comes back with three cups, each one filled with a different coffee. Another espresso for Ginny, one more black coffee (no cream, no sugar) for Hermione, and a cappuccino with extra cinnamon for me. "Have you lovely ladies decided yet?" he asks, looking specifically at Ginny. This time, Christina really _is_ looking at our table with a mildly angry expression on her face.

"The _Pinci Della 'Zia Pina' _sounds delicious," Ginny answers, slamming her menu shut with finality. My eyebrows disappear in my hair. What Ginny just ordered… It _is_ tasty, but she hates garlic with a passion. Hermione doesn't seem to notice anything strange. A lot must have changed in the last two years.

Anthony turns to Hermione. "The _Penne Integrali Con Pomodori Secchi, Rucola E Funghi," _she says decidedly. At least that order makes sense; I swear the girl has a wheat fetish. It must come from having dentists for parents. (A/N: Hermione ordered whole-wheat macaroni, amongst other things.)

Then he looks at me. "The usual?" I nod. "And one _Panzotti Dello Chef._" I smile, glad he remembered my recent change in orders. What? Like Hermione and Ginny, I'm a vegetarian and I happen to like mushrooms. I used order the _Raviolo Di Aragosta_ when I was a pescatarian, but when I made the change to straight vegetarianism, I had to give up the lobster.

Once Anthony leaves, we all reach for our coffee cups and take sips. I rather enjoy the silence. I got what I wanted; we haven't talked about Fred. But that's starting to bother me. After all, Hermione already told me he was the reason why they were in New York in the first place. Finally, I just get it out in the open. "So what about Fred dragged you to the States?" Both of them let out breaths. I guess neither one of them wanted to be the one to bring him up.

Ginny starts first. "I believe you promised us an explanation about why you were being fitted for a wedding dress earlier."

I sigh. It's going to be a long lunch. "It wasn't a wedding dress. It was that red gown hanging on the mannequin at the back of the boutique."

Hermione pipes up. "The one with the neckline that plunged all the way down to the waist?" I nod. "Whose wedding are you in that the bridesmaids' dresses look like _that_?"

"No one's. That's the dress I'm wearing to the premiere of the new Tom Cruise movie." Yet again, my companions' jaws drop to the floor. 

"Are you crazy?" Ginny exclaims. "You already told us how jealous Alex is. That thing you call a dress is going to make him go crazy."

Hermione echoes her best friend's sentiments. "I agree. That gown makes Jennifer Lopez's dress at the Grammys look like McGonagall's dress robes." We all burst into gales of laughter remembering our strict Transfiguration teacher's tartan robes from the Yule Ball in my sixth year.

"You know what?" I manage to say between giggles. "That was exactly the look I was going for." And this makes us burst into another fit of laughter. We stop laughing only when Anthony comes back with our food and gives us a weird look before hurrying off. Damn. Now he'll think we're crazy. Come to think of it, that's not really all that far from the truth.

When I can finally control my breathing, I look up at Ginny and Hermione. "Now that I've answered your question, it's time for you to answer mine. Why did you come see me in New York?"

"To get my favourite sister-in-law back," Ginny answers. "But then, you were my only sister-in-law so…"

Here Hermione interrupts. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Mione. Last I checked, you and Ron weren't married."

"Minor detail."

"Whatever." Ginny turns back to me. "He never stopped loving you, you know."

"Yes. He said that, too. Doesn't mean I believe him."

My lunchtime partners share a look before Hermione speaks. "Well, you can believe me. I've never lied to you before and I won't start now. He thinks about you all the time; even dreams about you at night. Gin can attest to that."

"I sure can," Ginny interjects. "He thought I was you and almost kissed me a week ago." I'm not even going to ask. "Ugh. I thought he was going to molest me." She shudders involuntarily. Clearly that was not a pleasant memory for her.

"Fine. Let's say I believe you. If he loved me so much, then why did he serve me with papers?" Hermione and Ginny exchange another look."

"Well, that's a nice surprise. He didn't tell you anything," Hermione says with a slight sarcastic edge in her voice. "Gin, remind me to kill your brother when we get back to England."

Ginny looks back at her. "You can have him when I'm done with him. How can we convince her if she doesn't know?"

"WILL ONE OF YOU TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!" I bellow. People in the restaurant turn to stare at me and I blush. Lucky for me, they can't tell. Unluckily for me, I notice at least half a dozen well-known tabloid reporters. Damn. This will be all over the rags tomorrow and on _Entertainment Tonight_ by six. "Tell me," I repeat, with a considerably lower voice.

Hermione begins with a question. "Did you know that there's a prophecy in the English Ministry of Magic that pertains to you?" I shake my head. "Well there is. Fred saw it there one day and read it."

I interrupt. "Two questions. One: what does that have to do with anything? And two: I thought that only the person whose name is on the prophecy could pick it up. How did Fred get hold of it?" I regretted asking the second question immediately. Obviously, as my then-husband, it had something to do with him as well.

"Well, the prophecy went: _On the…_"

Ginny cuts her off. "We don't have time for all that, Hermione." She looks at me. "Long story short, it said that Fred is going to murder you. He thought that if the two of you split up, he could protect you."

What the hell? "And you want to get us back together, _why_?" Okay, that's it; they are officially crazy. Either that or they've secretly hated me for years and want me dead. 

"Because you're both miserable. Fred spends most of his time in bed or hanging out in the Muggle world trying to keep an eye on you."

"What makes you think I'm miserable?"

"You've only managed to stay in one other relationship for longer than two weeks. And all you've dated has been tall redheads with brown eyes. Just like my dear older brother." That's exactly what Fred said a week ago. I wonder if he and Ginny share a brain now that George is gone.

"One more question: if the prophecy said that Fred will kill me and he divorced me so that it wouldn't happen, why did he show up at my castle last week?"

This time Hermione speaks. "Well, prophecies are usually written vaguely, but this one was pretty much to the point. He told me a few days ago that he still picked up on another meaning for it. But he didn't figure that out until you broke up with him again. The real reason was that he missed you terribly and was going mad. No exaggeration. Arthur and Molly even joked about sending him to St. Mungo's." 

"Well, well, well. Looks like my ex-husband has some explaining to do." For about the millionth time since we've been at the restaurant, Hermione and Ginny share a meaningful glance. "What is it now?

Ginny rubs her hands together. "When's the movie premiere?"

"In two days," I answer.

"A normal person would have just said Saturday."

"I married a Weasley; it's common knowledge that I'm not normal."

"If I wasn't so excited, I'd take offense to that remark."

Hermione butts in. "I rather agree with Angie, Gin. You'd have to be nutters to marry into your family. I'm just lucky I didn't."

"Shut up, Hermione," Ginny and I say in unison. Surprisingly, it works. Ginny turns back to me. "Oi, Angelina?"

"What?" I answer.

"You fancy going on a little trip Sunday?"

"Do I get to beat the crap out of your brother for being a bloody moron?"

"Of course. So long as Mione and I get him after you're done."

"Then I wouldn't it miss for the world."

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A/N: Chapter 8 is in the can. I'm sorry if the second half sucked; I'm going home this weekend and probably won't be able to get any writing done, so I wanted to leave you all with a long chappy (for me and Alex anyway: 8 ½ pages, 4,754 words). Well, actually, my laptop is home… and chapter 9 is a solo chapter by yours truly… You might see chapter 9 up before next Monday, but I'm not making any promises. I'm kinda tired; even as I type this author's note, my clock says that it's 5:21 AM. (Guess it's a good thing that my first class isn't until 11:00.) Anywho, read and review; I need something to justify me staying up all damn night. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

FredsAngel

Disclaimer: Joan and Melissa Rivers and any other celebrities (and I use that word loosely in terms of the aforementioned) own themselves. I don't own Club Edelweiss, either. 

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but based on all the reviews, I doubt you could care less about this chappy anyway. So to Ashliegh, tedabug, & Faye: the reunion is coming. I just have to get the movie premiere out of the way first. And, sadly, if you got the four members of Tumultuous in a club together, the first paragraph is exactly what would happen.

A/N 2: If the time jump bothers you, sorry. I didn't think you wanted to read all the annoying details about the girls' trip to the spa; just the results. And even then, this chapter is still kind of boring. 

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Angelina's POV

The phone by my bed rings and I reach over to pick it up. Unfortunately, the arms of a still sleeping Alex are holding me back so I have fight to disentangle myself from his limbs. I look over at him with a sad smile on my face. He still hasn't woken up. He sleeps like a rock, just like Fred. But then we went at it for quite some time last night after we left Club Edelweiss. Between dancing, drinking, and shagging, I'm incredibly knackered with the worst hangover known to man (a shame seeing as I used to hold my liquor well). I'm never EVER going out partying with the members of Tumultuous again. (When the rags say that they're wild, they mean it.) Brandon (the drummer) had a bet with Mandalynn over who could get more numbers.  Mandalynn won, but Brandon went home with more guys.  Daniella elected not to go, saying that she needed to spend time with her fiancé. (Smart girl.) And you've already been enlightened as to what Alex and I were doing. 

Damn. Tonight is the night of the big movie premiere. And tomorrow… tomorrow, I have a few choice words for my ex-husband. I almost feel sorry for what will be left of him when Ginny, Hermione and I are through with him. Oh, yeah. He's…

_Brrrrrrrinnngggg_. Bloody hell. I forgot about the phone. I answer it and find myself listening to my 1:00 PM wakeup call. (Hey, after the night I had, I deserve to sleep late.) Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and head to the closet. Remembering Hermione's statement on Thursday, I start to remove my favourite _God Save the Queen_ T-shirt and a pair of faded, ripped jeans. Then I remember what's on the agenda for today. Instead, I reach in and pull out a red button-down and my favourite pair of Diesel jeans and a pair of red-and-white Puma trainers. I decide to leave the punk clothes for tomorrow; after all, that's when Fred will know the REAL meaning of 'Anarchy in the UK.' I walk towards the loo, but not before Alex's voice calls out to me. "Hey, Toni! Want some company in the shower?"

So he's awake now. The way he called me, so reminiscent of… Dammit, don't think that Angelina. Today is Alex's day; tomorrow we'll deal with Fred. I turn around slowly. "No, Alex. We'd never get out otherwise. And I'm operating on a schedule."

"The movie isn't for another eight hours."

"I know. And I still have to visit the spa, get my hair and nails done, and pick up my dress from Vera's. All in New York traffic on a Saturday."

"Fine. You've made your point. And to be perfectly honest, with the hangover I have, I'm in no condition to screw anyway. Frankly, it amazes me that you were even able to get up this morning." He glances at the clock. "I mean, afternoon."

"Trust me, my head feels as heavy as hell." And with that, I walk into the bathroom. After shutting the door, I reach into one of the drawers and pull out my wand. I perform a charm for pain relief on myself. I don't think I've used another spell more in my twenty-two years (being married to Fred caused many a headache). Immediately, my head no longer feels like it weighs a ton. It amazes me how easily magic has come back to me. 

I turn on the water and step into the shower. Surprisingly, it's quite warm straight out of the nozzle. It feels so good; I love pulsating showerheads. Unfortunately, like I told Alex a few minutes ago, I'm on a schedule. I hop out of the shower and dry off with at quick spell before wrapping myself in a fluffy towel and walking back into the bedroom. 

My towel falls to the floor and Alex gives an appreciative whistle. "If you weren't in such a hurry, I'd take you back to bed right now."

"Sod off," I say, pulling on my knickers.

"Isn't that British slang?" he asks me with a cheeky grin on his face.

"My mother was a Brit. So sue me." Okay, so I'm lying to him. I do it on a regular basis; everyday, in fact. I've gotten quite good at it. I button my shirt and slide on my jeans. I sit on the bed so that I can put on my trainers, but Alex pulls me close before I can even get one on.

"I love you," he whispers. 

"Love you, too," I answer half-heartedly. Luckily, he doesn't notice and kisses me. I kiss him back, but with nowhere near as much passion. I pull away. "I have appointments all afternoon, Alex. I have to leave." And with that, I give him a peck on the lips, lace up my trainers, grab the keys to the Miata and step out the door. I look around to see if anyone is there. Confident that the coast is clear, I pull out my wand and Disapparate, praying that I end up in the car. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I put the keys in the ignition of the Miata and put the top down. I love convertibles; driving down the street with my hair in the wind reminds me of flying. Except that I can't do all kinds of tricks with an auto. I pull out of the parking garage and onto the street. Thank Merlin, I was taught how to drive in France; otherwise, I'd be screwed trying to drive in the States.

I ease into traffic and head in the direction of the spa. I hate New York traffic. It's so damn slow. And when you're in a hurry… If I could make this car fly, I would. My mobile rings. Damn. I look at the illuminated dial and it's a number I don't recognise. I glance back up; we're finally moving. The phone rings again. I press the button to answer it. "Hello?"

"Angelina, where are you?" It's Hermione. Double damn. I was supposed to meet her and Ginny at the spa. I managed to get them tickets to the show. 

"I'm stuck in traffic," I answer irritably. Thank Merlin, we're moving again.

"Why didn't you just Apparate?"

"And what was I supposed to do with the Miata?"

"Leave it in the garage. If someone asked about it, you could've just said you caught a cab," she answers matter-of-factly

Triple damn. She's such a pompous smartarse. I hate it when she makes sense; it just gives her another excuse to be an insufferable know-it-all. "Well, I got distracted so I didn't think of your oh-so-brilliant suggestion."

"Don't take your frustrations out on me. No one told you to shag all morning and be late."

"I didn't shag all morning, Granger; I shagged all night."

"Same thing."

The light changes and the BMW in front of me just sits there. Fuck. I'm already late. I honk until the idiot in front of me finally realises that the light is green. But by that time, the light is red. The driver turns around to flip me off and I get a glimpse of her face. My cousin Adrienne (my family has a weird fascination with 'A' names), the squib. "Fuck," I mutter.

"Angie, what happened?" Shit. I forgot Hermione was still on my mobile. Oh well; might as well tell her the truth.

"The idiot ahead of me just caused me to miss the light."

"Damn."

I see my exit coming. "Look, Mione, I'm about five minutes away. How long until our appointments?"

"About seven. You'd better hurry, Angie; Tina Parker waits for no one."

"I know, I know." After hanging up, I swing the little Miata onto the exit ramp. I look at the speedometer. Damn. I'm doing eighty-eight; the speed limit is seventy. Thank Merlin there aren't any cops around. I hightail it to the spa and make it with about a minute to spare. I park the Miata in the garage and run up the three flights of stairs, strolling up to the receptionist's desk very out of breath. 

"Go on in, Ms. Toussaint; Tina's waiting for you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At 6:00 PM…

I finally leave Tina's station. She did a fabulous job, as usual. I wouldn't trust my hair, face and nails to anyone else in New York. 

My dark brown hair has been streaked with red and most of it has been piled on my head in an elegantly coifed bun. A few strands at the front frame my face, giving it that heart-shaped effect (instead of its plain oval shape). My make-up looks natural, but I've always had flawless skin. (It's a good thing I ended up with a lot of my mum's genes; Papa's relatives had horrible acne well into adulthood.) Except for my eyes. She opted for 'glam eyes' or something like that. All I know is that they're really dramatic and they look good. My lips are a very pale rose tint. She lined them in the same reddish-brown shade as my natural lip colour and filled them with the lip colour before adding a clear gloss over it to protect it from smudging and to make my lips appear extra shiny. And my nails are about two and one-half centimetres, rounded and painted the same scarlet as my dress with flecks of gold glitter airbrushed onto them. I must repeat my words from Thursday: Damn I look good. Well, my hair, nails and face look good; my 'outfit' on the other hand… Well, I'll remedy that in a couple of hours. 

Hermione and Ginny are waiting for me in the lobby. Their stylists did a great job on them, not that they looked bad to begin with. Hermione's cinnamon hair has been highlighted and straightened so that it falls in loose waves about her shoulders. Her make-up is natural, but a light dusting of powder accents her high cheekbones and gives her peaches-and-cream complexion a soft glow. Her nails are considerably shorter than mine and have been French manicured with a single rhinestone at the tip of each nail. Ginny's appearance has changed the most out of all of us. She's wearing no make-up, save for a bit of clear gloss. Unlike Hermione and me, her nails aren't elaborately decorated. Instead, hers have just been trimmed and a couple of coats of clear polish have been applied. Nothing too fancy, but elegant nonetheless. But her hair… Molly Weasley is going to have a fit when she sees it. Ginny's long hair is now shoulder-length and wavy. And instead of being the trademark Weasley crimson, it has been dyed. Raven black. It looks awesome, but if she doesn't fix it before we go back to England tomorrow… She'll be dead and Mione and I will be too for allowing her to do something like that to her hair. 

Gin looks at me "You look so beautiful!" she gushes. "Now go back in there and get rid of it."

What the hell is wrong with her? "What the hell is wrong with you, Gin?" 

Hermione speaks for her best friend. "There's nothing wrong with her. It's just that with _that_ and your dress, you are going to look totally shagalicious." I raise my eyebrow. I know Dr. Hermione Granger did _not_ just say the word 'shagalicious.'

"And what's wrong with that?"

"If you look shagalicious, then Alex is going to want to shag you. Which means we won't be able to leave right after the movie."

"Uh… You thought we were going to leave right after the movie?" 

"Yeah. When did you think we were going to leave?"

"Sunday. We have after-parties to go to and interviews to give right after the premiere." She groans. "Welcome to Muggle Hollywood."

Ginny stands up and the three of us walk to the Miata. Suddenly, she turns to me. "You know, I couldn't care less about how much Alex wants to shag you. I was worried about Fred trying to shag you before you can even say anything." Then she gives me a cheeky grin. "So exactly how many parties are we hitting tonight?"

"Four, at the very least."

"At the very least?"

"Yep."

"Bring 'em on."

Behind us, Hermione groans again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

6:23 PM

We make it to Manhattan in near record time. Traffic wasn't bumper-to-bumper and I didn't get caught by a single red light. Twenty-one minutes. I love this car; not even my Corvette goes this fast. Maybe I should buy a Miata when I get back to Europe.

We step into the boutique and Vera hands over the dress and matching accessories. My gown is in an opaque garment bag to prevent people from seeing it before tonight. She also gives me a fairly large amount of double-sided tape. I don't need it, though; I've used a fair amount of Adhesive Charms in my life.

I asked Mione and Gin about their dresses for the premiere. They responded that they would just use their wands to change clothes. I wish I had that luxury, but if I used my wand, someone would find out and it would be in the Enquirer and other such publications. Then it would get back to Percy since he's the current British Minister of Magic, which means it'll be in both the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_. Nope, can't use my wand. Besides, I've already shelled out a good $1500 for this dress that I will only wear once in my life.

For a few minutes, I listen to Vera ramble on about how sexy I'll look. Hermione rolls her eyes and taps her foot impatiently, while Ginny just looks bored. After what seems like forever, we _finally_ get out of the shop. The clock in the auto says that the time is 6:45 PM. Then my mobile rings, playing Sheila E's _The Glamorous Life _(I love the irony). I don' t even need to look at the dial to know that it's Alex wondering where I am. 

"Hello?"

"Toni, where the hell are you?"

"On my way back to the hotel. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Well, hurry up will you? The limo will be here soon."

"Not for another hour."

"But the party…"

"Doesn't matter. We'll be fashionably late. Besides, we're going to the all the after-parties."

"You really up for going back to Edelweiss tonight?"

"Hey, so long as I don't consume my weight in alcohol and X, I'm cool."

"A'ight then. I love you."

"Love you, too."

I hang up just as I make a right onto the exit ramp. And Ginny gapes at me from the passenger seat. "What? I didn't go _that_ fast."

"Screw your driving; how long have you been on drugs?"

"What drugs? Ecstasy?" She nods. "About a year and a half. I started taking it for severe depression, but now I only pop one every once in a while in a social setting." 

"What's the high like? Is it really as intense as everyone says it is?"

"GINNY!!! ANGIE!!!" Hermione yells. "Don't you two know two know how dangerous that stuff is?!"

"You'll find out soon enough," I continue like I haven't heard a word she said. "Pretty much everyone does it; you get the best deal from Travis Fox, though. And it's pretty much a requirement to get in at Club Edelweiss."

"ARRGH!!" comes Hermione's voice from the back. "I can't believe I'm hearing to this conversation!"

Fortunately, I don't have to respond to her or answer any more of Ginny's questions about my drug of choice because I just pulled reached the hotel. I park and we take the elevator to the penthouse.

"Wow. This is posh, Angie," Ginny says in amazement while Hermione's jaw drops to the floor. I'm surprised that Hermione is so awe-struck; her family is, after all, fairly wealthy. But then, my official residence is a castle, so my perceptions of normal might be skewed just the _tiniest_ bit.

"Isn't it though?" I say in an overly pompous voice, a la Percy. "I only accept the best." My companions laugh. "But seriously, this suite is where I always stay when I'm in New York."

"How much time do you spend in the States?" Hermione asks me as I head towards the bathroom for a quick shower.

"Quite a bit, actually. Maybe a week each month. I'm considering just getting a flat; this place is too damn expensive," I call back.

"Says the woman who is about to wear a 207 Galleon dress only once," she mutters to Ginny.

"I heard that, Granger!" my muffled voice comes from the shower.

"You were supposed to!"

I step out of the shower and dry myself off before slipping into my gown. I mutter a quick Adhesive Charm to prevent my flashing anyone at the premiere. I check myself in the mirror to make sure my hair and make-up is still in place; it is. (Thank Merlin for Impervious Charms; they're dead useful.) I come out for my shoes, jewellery, and handbag and see Mione and Gin. They're dressed already. 

Hermione is wearing the classic little black dress. It has spaghetti straps and rests just past her knees. Her shoes are strappy sandals that show off her manicured toes. But the heels can't be any more than five centimetres high. Her ensemble isn't surprising by any stretch of the imagination. Simple, elegant, classy. Yep, that's Hermione Granger all right.

Ginny on the other hand is wearing a form-fitting blue dress that matches her eyes exactly. (A/N: I know Gin's eyes are brown, but Alex kind of messed that up, so just go with me here.) It also complements her new hair colour well. Her matching shoes and purse are Gucci; I'd recognise that logo anywhere. And the shoes give her an extra nine centimetres of height, making her nearly as tall as me. She wears no jewellery except a pair of silver hoop earrings and the white gold locket Draco gave her before he died. 

My mobile rings. It's Alex, again. I don't even bother checking the number before answering. "Dammit, Alex, I'm at the hotel dressed and ready. You don't have to keep checking up on me." 

"Um, Angie, this isn't Daniels." 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

AngelsFred

A/N: Sorry. Looks like you'll have to wait a bit longer for the Fred/Angie reunion. This chapter was sort of a spur of the moment kind of thing. And I'd like to apologise to FA for forcing her change chapter 9 so that I could do this. (Don't worry about it; I'm sure the reviewers don't mind the story being a _little_ bit longer.) Yeah, I think you're right. It's, what, two chapters after this one? (Unless you change something before I post it.)

A/N2: Sadly, FA is right. We are a wild bunch. But she lied about herself; our wonderful bassist would have been at the party drunk out of her mind and probably a little baked. (Why you little…) You know it's the truth. (Almost 18 and one-half years of this, you guys. I don't know how I manage.) Need I remind you that you agreed to marry me? (We still have three years before the actual date. Plenty of time for me to change my mind if you continue to act like an immature jackass.) I've always acted like an immature jackass. We've been best friends our entire lives and you haven't realized that yet? (You know, you're right. No wonder Tyrell hates you.) No, he hates me because he's your big brother and it's his job to hate me. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fred's POV

C'mon, Angel. Pick up. I need to talk to you. Preferably before you leave with that twit. Though if you walk out on him to answer, you won't hear any complaints from me. 

"Damn it, Alex, I'm at the hotel dressed and ready. You don't have to keep checking up on me," she says, more than a little bit exasperated. 

"Um, Angie, this isn't Daniels." Damn him to hell. My arm should be the one that Angelina is on tonight, not his. "Look, can I talk to…"

"Hold on a second," she says into the receiver. Then I hear her yelling (across the room, most likely), "Oi Weasley! Your brother wants to talk to you!"

"But I wanted to talk to _you_," I sigh. Shit. 

"Percy or Fred?" Gin calls back.

"Which d'you think?"

"Tell him…" Ginny's voice is drowned out by an intercom telling Angelina that her limousine is waiting.

Then I hear my wife's – EX-wife (as everyone constantly sees fit to remind me of) – voice on the receiver again. "Um, Fred? We have to go; our limo's waiting. Gin said she'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"But…" I begin.

"Bye," she says flatly and I hear a click. Damn it. 

I hate not being with her. And I don't trust Alex Daniels one bit. I know his type too well. Unfortunately, I can't go New York because Gin and Mione will kill me for spoiling their plan. I need to keep an eye on her somehow.

I know what you're thinking: Isn't that supposed to be Hermione and Ginny's job? Well, technically it is. But logically, it won't happen. Gin will too busy partying and trying to pick up guys. And no one actually listens to anything that Hermione says. Least of all, Ginny and Angelina. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they killed her for spoiling their fun.

No, I need someone who knows Angelina almost as well I do. Someone who won't let her own desires get in the way of her responsibility. Someone who happens to live in New York and will be at that premiere. Someone who owes me a big favour.

I pick the phone back up and dialed a familiar number. Please be at work, please be at work, I silently plead.

An efficient feminine voice answers. "Soulless Records. Can I help you?"

"Trini?"

"Hello, Mr. Weasley. I've been expecting your call. Ms. Johnson left a message for you."

"She did?" How on earth did she know I was going to call? "Well, what was it?"

"She told me to tell you 'no'."

"That's it?"

"Yes, sir. I can give you her cell number if you still need to talk with her."

"No, that's all right. Thank you, Trini."

"Good-bye, Mr. Weasley." 

Damn. Sometimes I really can't stand her. And she's a bigger smartass than Hermione. But I need her. She'll be really discreet about watching Angelina; she really cares about her cousin, even if they aren't speaking. Normally Angie is pretty forgiving, but when it came to Adrienne kissing me… Put it this way: we were thirteen at the time and now we're twenty-two.

I dial the number to her flat and get her machine. "Hi, this is AJ. You know the drill." I start forming the message in my head when my friend's recorded voice continues. "And if this is Fred, I know what you want and the answer is 'NO'."

I hang up and dial her mobile number. She and Angelina are exactly alike: if they don't want to be found, they'll make it damn near impossible. She picks up; it's about damn time. "Hello?"

"AJ," I start before she cuts me off.

"Did you not get the messages I left for you at the office and on the machine?"

"Yeah, I did. But Adrienne, you don't even know what I want you to do."

"Yes, I do. You want me to watch Angie at the premiere tonight and make sure nothing happens between her and Alex."

"See that's not so hard. Now why won't you do it?"

"I have my reasons." Damn, she's exasperating. She and Angie are exactly alike.

"Could you be any more vague?" I ask irritably. She is starting to work my last nerve.

"Look, Angelina has her own life and if she wants Alex to be a part of it, then there is nothing either of us can do about it."

What is with the Johnson girls and Alex Daniels? Even sensible Abby thought he was hot for a Muggle. "How badly do you want him?" I ask.

"As badly as you want Angelina back," she answers simply. "But it'll never work between us."

"Why not?"

"Besides the obvious? Think what all the rags will say. He's on my label; people will say that I slept with him to sign Tumultuous."

"Didn't you?" I ask with a smile on my face, turning on the speakerphone so that I could duck whatever hex she sent my way. 

"No! I slept with him because I was drunk and high, and he was hot and there."

"So, Squib, you're saying you're a slut, then?" I could imagine the look on her face. Her family thought she was a Squib until she showed signs of being magical in her late teens. She's actually pretty sensitive about the situation, but I make fun of her anyway.

"You do realize that any chance you had of convincing me to going through VW3 to keep an eye on your precious Angelina and her new fiancé, you just shot to hell."

"No, I didn't. You know you were going to do it anyway. You're as worried about her as I am."

"Well, yeah. She took the divorce harder than I thought she would. I know for a fact that she's doing ecstasy now."

"What?!" I yell incredulously. My Angel… on drugs? Impossible.

"Well, in France, E is still a legal prescription drug for depression. Angie's been on it for about a year. But I wouldn't be surprised if she's using harder stuff. It's common knowledge that the drummer and lead guitarist in Tumultuous are into everything from marijuana to heroin. And it's well-known that Alex and Angie have visited Club Edelweiss every night since they've been in New York."

"Is that bad?"

"Is what bad?"

"That Angie's been going to nightclubs."

"Not really, but Edelweiss is like a modern day Studio 54." 

What the hell is Studio 54? "AJ, you know I'm not Muggle. Or American, for that matter. You have to explain what that means."

"54 used to be the most popular dance club in New York. But it wasn't known for it's wild, pulsating beats that kept you moving. Instead, its claim to fame was the rampant drug use and the many celebrities that frequented the club for that reason."

Damn. "Is there a party there tonight?"

A pause. "Yeah, there is."

"So will you…" She cuts me off.

"Fine. I have some business with the owner anyway."

"And you want an excuse to screw Daniels."

"And I want an excuse to _see_ Alex," she amended.

"Whatever. Just don't let him and Angie out of your sight."

"Fine," she sighs, exasperated. "Is that all?"

"Almost."

"Damn, Fred. I've got to be there in, like, thirty minutes. What else?"

"Make sure Angie doesn't get high or drunk tonight, will you? I want her to be sober so she'll enjoy the make-up sex when we get back together tomorrow."

"Confident, are we?" I can just see the smirk on her face.

"Always," I coolly answer.

"Yeah, well, I'll do it. But ONLY because I'm worried about her. Can I go now?"

"Yeah, sure. Bye AJ."

"Good-bye Fred. Good luck."

"Thanks."

"Anytime." She hangs up and I flop back unto my bed. Nothing to do now but wait.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. FA has the next chapter with the actual premiere. And, hopefully, a chick fight between Angelina and Adrienne over me. (FA: He's not you! And there will be no chick fight!) Damn.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

FredsAngel

A/N: A chick fight is a must, Ashliegh? Well, far be it for me to disappoint a loyal fan. If it's a chick fight you want, it's a chick fight you shall get. I only hope it's believable. (Ashliegh, I worship at your feet. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't get one.) And Angie's conversation with KeVan Monét, a.k.a. Kevin Sledge, is dedicated to everyone who has had to have a variation of that conversation. (Maybe you should e-mail this chapter and all of _Colorblind _[which, Teda, is brilliant BTW] to Tyrell.) I would, but he wouldn't get it. (Doesn't he start grad school next fall?) Doesn't change fact that he's a moronic git. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alex is waiting for us outside the limo. He spins me around and kisses me like he hasn't seen me all day, while the chauffeur helps Ginny and Hermione into the auto. Just before they get in, I glance over Alex's shoulder and see Ginny make a gesture. A gesture that involved her finger moving across her throat. Say anything about Ginny Weasley that you want, but there is no doubt that she's loyal to her family. I'm just glad that the slit throat motion was aimed at Alex and not me.

He finally releases me. "Where's your coat?" he asks, finally taking in my appearance.

"I don't need one. It's the middle of July, Alex. Have you gone mad?" Shit. By the time I finished the sentence, I'm speaking in a British accent instead of the upper class French one I've been carrying for the last two years. Damn my talking to Hermione and Ginny in my old voice; it caused my slip. 

"Well can't you at least get a pashmina or something? I'm not sure I'm up for fighting every guy in the industry for looking at you in… in _that_," he says, gesturing at my dress. Thank Merlin he didn't notice.

"Don't be silly; pashminas have been out of style for a good three months now. Besides the only one I have eyes for tonight is you." Now tomorrow is another story.

"It's not YOUR wandering eyes I'm worried about. You know that Tom and Nicole have been having problems, right?"

"It's all over the tabloids. But I don't see what that has to do with us."

"Tom's a very handsome guy."

"He's also married and way too short for my taste." We both laugh. "If anyone should be worried it's me, Mr. Empire's–Sexiest–Celebrity–and–People's–Most–Beautiful–Person," I say, making sure to use the accolades the top UK and US magazines bestowed upon him recently. 

He kisses me again. "You have nothing to worry about." Then a cheeky grin appears on his face. "Unless Thandie has some ideas." 

I untangle myself from his arms and punch him in the arm. "You know, for someone who's been harassing me all day about being on time, you don't seem to be in much of a hurry to get there."

"You're right. Why don't we just send your friends and we can stay here and pick up where we left off last night, eh?" he says cocking his eyebrow suggestively. 

"Let me think about it." I pretend to ponder my boyfriend's enquiry. "Nah. Let's go before you get any hornier." He looks down in confusion as I walk towards the limo snickering to myself. Apparently he didn't notice the erection that he was displaying. Men.

"Why, you little witch." I stop snickering and whirl around. What did he just say? I swear if Daniella told him anything, I'll kill her. Just because she's a witch…

"What did you say, hun?" I ask in as calm a voice as I can muster. 

"I said, 'Why you little wench…' You didn't think I said bitch, did you? I'll have you know I'd never say that about you. I might think it on occasion, but I'd never SAY it."

"You're scared of me, aren't you?"

"Very," he answers with mock seriousness.

"Well, we're running beyond late and if you don't want a reason to be really be scared of me, then we need to get going."

"I thought you wanted to be 'fashionably late'."

"Fashionably late is twenty minutes; not an hour. I don't want to miss any of the movie."

"Yeah, you just want to be late enough to avoid Joan Rivers."

"Damn straight," I reply as I climb into the limo. "The woman is sixty-seven. What on earth makes her think she's an authority on today's fashion?"

"Who are you two talking about," asks Hermione, who is sitting directly across from me.

"Joan Rivers," Ginny answers for me. "Wasn't it obvious? But I thought she was about twenty years older than that." We all laugh before she then turns to me. "For what it's worth, Toni, I agree with you. She's too old to discuss red carpet fashion. And her daughter isn't much better at it."

"Yeah, they both dress like they throw things together that they found at thrift shops," Hermione breaks in. The three of us stare at her. "What?"

Ginny pats her knee. "Nothing, Jane. Just try to stay out of fashion-oriented conversations, will you?"

"Gin!" I exclaim. "That's evil."

"No it's not. Miss Know-It-All here needs to learn that there are things that she doesn't know everything about. And fashion is definitely one of them."

"Good point."

"Hey!" Hermione exclaims before turning to my boyfriend. "You're on my side, aren't you Alex?"

Ginny and I each send him a glare, but I have feeling that they were unwarranted. Alex is rather…fashion conscious. All right, he loves shopping more than any guy, straight or gay, ought to. The boy practically lives in too-expensive preppy stores.  "Uh… Actually, Jane, I kind of agree with your friends."

I give him a peck on the lips and pat his head. "Good boy."

Gin and Mione look at each other then look at Alex. "You are so whipped," they say in unison.

"No, I'm not. I merely acknowledge the fact that Toni is the dominant person in this relationship." Ginny raises her eyebrow. "Have you ever seen her angry? She scares the hell out of me."

"Whipped," they chorus again in a sing-songy voice, this time making the sound and gesture.

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," I say.

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8:15 PM

We step out of the limo and onto the red carpet. Immediately, the cameras start going off. I glance around; I don't see any signs of that old bag or her too-tanned elf look-alike daughter anywhere. I let out a sigh of relief. 

The light bulbs flash all around us. My mouth is starting to hurt from all the fake smiling. It sort of makes me wish I was on the runway and I could look angry. Ginny looks right at home up here and Alex is always at ease at these functions. Hermione, on the other hand, looks completely out of place, like she doesn't belong in this setting. Which is the truth, actually. But she's not supposed to let _them_ know that. I hate these things too, but you can't tell. It's all about the confidence. 

A photographer that I know quite well comes running up to us and I let a low groan. KeVan Monét (his professional name; his real name is Kevin Sledge) is a photographer and columnist for _Spin_ magazine. He's a brilliant artist and writer; unfortunately, he's also a faux militant who claims he's working to resurrect the 'Revolution' against 'The Man.' He's been taking pot shots at me and my relationships in his columns because they are always with Caucasians. And my current relationship with Alex has given him all kinds of fodder and ammunition to blast me with. But since my publicist and public relations people have warned me against firing back, he uses my silence as evidence of his claims.

"Toni," he says in that syrupy sweet voice of his, "how good it is to see you and Alex again." My boyfriend cringes; he hates the bastard almost as much as I do. "Would you be willing to grant me an interview?"

I don't want to, but past experience has taught me that he'll follow me around all night if I don't. And then call me a stuck-up bitch a week later in his column. "Kev_in_, hi," I say emphasising his real name. "Sure I'd love to." The look of surprise on his face is priceless. One point for me. "Walk with me, talk with me." I lead him away from my friends (and Alex, who can only contain his anger for so long).

"So, Toni…" he begins before I cut him off.

"You can stop with the facade, Sledge. You don't like me and you _know_ that I loathe you. So get to the point."

"Why do you continue to degrade the African-American community by having sexual relationships with _them_?"

"I don't see how I can degrade the African-American community if I'm not African-American."

"Your skin tone says otherwise."

"First of all, get your facts straight: I'm not _African-American_; I'm French-English-African."

"It doesn't matter what country you're from; you still make yourself out to be a whore, in every sense of the word, for the white-controlled entertainment industry every time you step out with one of them."

"That's not possible when I'm biracial myself." He starts to say something, but I continue before he can even get a word in. I've been waiting for this confrontation for a year-and-a-half and I'm finally going to speak my piece. "And for someone who hates whites so much, I don't see you leaving your cushy job at _Spin_, which I might add, is owned by 'The Man' for Afro-centric magazines like _Ebony _or _Jet_. And you can quote me on that, _my Brother_." And with that, I whirl on my heel and stalk off to find my companions.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

8:27 PM

"So what did that snake want to talk to you about?" Alex asks when we meet back up on the red carpet.

"Nothing he hasn't said before."

Ginny looks at me expectantly. I chuckle; she looks rather like a child trying to convince her mum to let her open her Christmas presents early. "So did you finally tell the bastard off?

"Yeah, I did. It was a long time coming."

"That's my girl," Alex says, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. His show of possession in case anyone is watching, especially KeVan Monét. He has this ridiculous notion that the rat secretly wants me. 

Hermione breaks into the conversation. "Will someone please enlighten me as to what you are all talking about?"

Ginny laughs. "Forgive her; she doesn't read _Spin_."

"Lucky her," Alex muttered.

"Look, don't worry about it, Jane. He writes for a magazine and has been using his column to make some personal attacks on me in general, and on my relationship with Alex in particular."

She lets out a low whistle. "Harsh."

"It's been taken care of." I sigh. It's going to be worse now that I've responded to him. But I'll burn that bridge when I get there. "Now on to more important issues. Has anyone seen Joan or Melissa yet?"

"Nope," Alex says, giving me another peck on the cheek. Thankfully, he didn't notice the glare Ginny sent him. "The elf and the witch are nowhere to be found." Again, I thank my lucky stars that he didn't see the three of us cringe when he said 'witch'.

We start walking toward our seats when Hermione groans. "Ugh. Speak of the devil." 

Alex, Gin, and I follow her gaze. "DAMN!" we all swear in unison, not bothering to hide the fact that something's annoying us. And that something (or rather someone) happens to be Joan and Melissa Rivers. Directly in front of us. There's no way to get into the theatre without running into them. The only way we could get to our seats without them noticing is to Apparate. But we can't because Alex isn't a wizard. And even if he was, Apparating in front of a lot of prominent Muggles is a definite no-no. So the only thing to do is suck it up and hope they don't see us.

We continue walking straight and fortunately, my prayers have been answered. They're too busy talking to Thandie Newton and her husband, writer Oliver Parker, to notice us. We don't say a word, until we're inside the theatre, that is. Once we reach our seats, the discussion of the outfits begins. Starting with fashionista Ginny. "Did you see the elf's dress?"

I answer first. "Yes. I can't believe she had the nerve to wear _tangerine_."

"And with her bad fake tan, she looked like a big orange blob. If it wasn't for the hair, I wouldn't have known where the dress ended and she began," Alex finished.  We all burst out laughing. And ignoring our conversation in the limo, Hermione made a worthy contribution to the discourse.

"Or what about Joan's dress? She was wearing even less than Toni."

Gin looks at her best friend. "What did I tell you in the car, Jane?"

"Oh piss off, Gin, and let me finish. The whole Spanish dress thing would have worked if she weren't so old and wrinkled. Even with the thousands she spends on plastic surgery a year, there's no denying that. She and Melissa should've switched outfits." We stare at her open-mouthed. "What?"

"That was…" I begin.

"Exactly what…" Alex continues.

"We were…" Ginny proceeds.

"Going to say!" we finished together.

Hermione blushed crimson. Even though she didn't get to marry Ron, you'd swear she was a Weasley (minus the hair, of course). "So who doesn't know beans about fashion now, huh?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After the Movie…

"Thandie is my new favourite actress," Mione says as we walk out of the theatre and head to the limo to go to the official after-party at the Four Seasons Hotel. Which happens to be my home in the City, so we can change clothes afterward. Even though celebrity etiquette dictates that we should all wear exactly what we wore to premiere, all of us are sick to death of these fancy garments. Besides, we're going clubbing, not to the Academy Awards post-show. 

"She's been my favorite for quite some time. I saw her in _Flirting_ a while ago and just fell in love with her," Alex added.

"You hear that, Toni?" Hermione asks with a cheeky grin. "Sounds like you might have some competition."

"Good," I hear Ginny mutter under her breath. I'm starting to think that she's taking this more seriously than Hermione. And that's just scary.

"You are sadly mistaken, Jane. It's common knowledge that Ol Parker is extremely overprotective of his wife. And if Alex here tried to make a move on Thandie, he'd be buried six feet under," I say.

"Sounds good to me," Gin mutters again.

We all pile into the waiting limo. "So what can we expect at these parties?" Gin asks.

Alex answers, even though the question was directed at me. I don't really care, though. To be honest, this is more of his element anyway. "At this one, you can pretty much count on there being more of the same thing you just saw: dressed up celebrities and annoying photographers and gossip columnists."

"What about the other ones?"

"Pulsating beats, open bars, drugs…" Hermione cut him off.

"Drugs?" She seemed shocked. "What kind of drugs?"

"Weed, X, the usual. Sometimes you'll find some people doing a couple lines of coke in VIP."

"You two don't do those types of things, do you?"

Gin elbows her. "Does it really matter?"

I answer Hermione's question, anyway. "We both drink and I pop an E pill every now and then. But other than that, nothing."

Ginny pipes up. "That's kind of surprising. In the magazines, everyone talks about how hard and how much you guys party."

"I think you're talking about Mandalynn and Brandon. They're into everything: pot, H, acid. You name it; they've done it. Unfortunately, the rags tend to lump Toni, Daniella, and I in with them."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

11:30 PM

"Angie, this isn't healthy," a voice says beside me at the bar.

"You sound like Hermione, Gin"

"Well can you blame her?" another voice comes on my other side. "We're worried about you."

"Why? I've only had one pill and I've only had one drink."

"Yeah, but everyone knows that the worst thing to do on ecstasy is drink alcohol. And you won't tell us what's wrong."

"Thank you, Dr Granger. Look, I'm fine now. I just felt a bit on the depressed side."

"Why?" she presses on.

"Actually, I think I know," Ginny says. Hermione follows her gaze and sees Adrienne in the corner, talking on her mobile. "It's been nine years, Ange. Let it go."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

4:13 AM

My companions and I stroll (okay, more like we staggered) into Club Edelweiss drunk, exhausted, and (in the case of Ginny and me) more than a little hopped up on ecstasy.

"So are you guys ready?" Alex asks, more to Ginny and Hermione than to me.

"I was born ready," Ginny says. Boy, if Fred could see her now… Actually, I don't think he'd be that surprised that she's such a party animal. Boy, if Mrs. Weasley or Percy could see her now… All hell would break loose.

Hermione on the other hand answered with a very slurred, "I...guess…so." I need a camera. Who would've thought Dr. Hermione Jane Granger would be this drunk? Fred would get a kick out of this if he were here. Dammit! Stop thinking about him! We'll deal him tomorrow. Er – later today.

Alex elbows me. "What about you, sweetie? You ready to dance the night away?" 

"Isn't what we've been doing?"

"No, that's what you were doing. _I_ was busy thinking about how to get you out of those clothes."

"I doubt it's going to happen." Alex gave me a look of mock disappointment. "It took forever to get into these things," I say, gesturing at my too tight Seven jeans. $157 and they're too painful to sit in. (A/N: Name one person besides Courtney Cox who can actually get a comfortable fit out of those things.)

"I think I could manage," he answers with a smirk and starts to pull me toward the dance floor.

As my boyfriend and I move in sync to the heart-pounding rhythms vibrating through the speakers, I chance a glance at Hermione and Ginny. My two companions have the attention of many of the club goers. Gin's over there embracing the attention, dancing with four guys (one on each side). Mione, on the other hand, simply seems too drunk to even care. It's about bloody time she dropped the whole know-it-all persona and learned to live a little. Maybe Gin and I will have to get her drunk more often.

Ginny's shoulder-length black hair whips about her as she dances. She's really good; she definitely takes after the twins. Both Fred and George were good dancers (as was Bill), but her other brothers all had two left feet. Her gold-sequined halter meshes well with her tight leather pants. But unlike mine, her trousers aren't cutting off her circulation. (Note to self: stick with Diesel. Or go shopping with Gin.) And her simple, black Gucci stilettos complete the outfit and manage to put my intricate Fendi shoes to shame. Actually, now that I think about it, she wears a lot of Gucci. How can she afford all that stuff? I wear it on a regular basis and even _I_ think it's too damn expensive.

As usual, Hermione isn't as concerned about fashion as Ginny and me. Her cinnamon hair cascades down her back onto the denim Sergio Valente jumpsuit that she's wearing. As Alex said when she emerged from the bathroom dressed, she looks übersexy. Even though her outfit would be considered fashionable by anyone's standards, Hermione confessed that she chose it because it left everything to the imagination. A pair of plain black Candies boots completes her ensemble. 

A jerk on my arm disrupts my thoughts. A grin has appeared on Alex's face and he starts dragging me toward VIP. "What's up?"

"I saw a friend and I want to introduce you."

I balk when I see his 'friend'. "Alex! Long time, no see!" the familiar voice squeals and encircles him in a tight embrace.

"Adrienne! How's my favorite record exec?"

"Trying to make sure we all get paid and that your brother and cousin stay the hell out of trouble so that the lawyers don't have to be."

Alex turns to me, a goofy grin on his face. "Adrienne, this is my girlfriend, Toni Toussaint. Toni, this is Adrienne Johnson, head of Soulless Records. And, essentially, my boss." My backstabbing bitch of cousin gives me a weak smile and holds out her hand. I shake it as hard as I can (maybe trying to break it), given my current state of mind. I'm already close to crashing out and seeing the Squib has definitely put a damper on my night – um, morning. 

"We've met," I say in as cold a voice as I can muster.

I need a fix badly. And maybe something else to relieve my tense feeling. Like some hash. I absolutely refuse to inject myself with that poison they call heroin and I've seen enough of my fellow models become snowbirds for the weight loss. I watch my relative throw herself at my boyfriend (again) and I stalk off. I think I saw 'The Silver Fox' head up to the third floor earlier.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

5:07 AM

Adrienne corners me in the third floor Ladies Room. "You're high," she says matter-of-factly.

"And you care why?" My voice is laced with acid and malice.

"I promised an old friend that I'd keep an eye on you. He's worried and so am I."

"You can tell my ex-husband that I don't need a goddamned baby-sitter."

"No, but you need detox." She takes a step forward. "If you'd only let me help you…"

"Help me what?"

"Help you get better."

"Oh, okay. So while I'm in rehab, _getting better_, you can help yourself to my boyfriend. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Dammit, Angelina! It's not like that!"

"And what, exactly, _is_ it like?"

"Alex and I are just friends."

"Bullshit! You want him. I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm not going to play these mind games with you. Not when you're this out of it."

"Tell me you don't want him then." She remained silent. "That's what I thought. Once a whore, always a whore."

That finally broke the skank. She lunges at me, but I'm ready. I duck her punch and deliver a well-timed right cross to the side of her face. She counters with jabs to my well-toned midsection. Thankfully, it doesn't hurt as badly as it would have if I hadn't played so much Quidditch in my youth. She uses each jab as an accent to her sentence. 

"I'm…*punch*…sick…*punch*…and…*punch*…tired…*punch*…of…*punch*…fucking…*punch*…apologizing …*punch*…for…*punch*…that…*punch*…damn…*punch*…kiss…*punch*. It…*punch*…was…*punch*…nine…*punch*…years…*punch*…ago…*punch*. Get…*punch*…over…*punch*…it…*punch*."

I manage to sneak in an uppercut, which stuns Adrienne long enough for me to go on the offensive. "Never!" I get in quite a few punches. The fight goes on like this until we're both bruised and bloody. There's a cut above my right eye that's making it kind of hard for me to see my target. Out of my good eye, I can see that my cousin has an identical cut above her left. But it doesn't stop us; we continue to swing blindly at each other.

I'm exhausted, but I have to go on. I have wanted to do this ever since I was thirteen and now that I can, I'm not going to stop. Next thing I know, two arms grab me from behind and press an odd-smelling cloth to my face. _I am going to kill her._ And, suddenly, everything went black.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Yeah, I changed some things, but don't worry; the F/A reunion will still be next chapter. It might go a bit a different then expected, so stay tuned for the next instalment of this never-ending saga. (Okay, so it has an end [which we've already written]. You knew what I meant.) As usual, read and review.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

FredsAngel & AngelsFred

Disclaimer: I don't own Teany; Moby does.  I wish I did, though.  96 varieties of hot teas, plus iced tea, vegetarian/vegan sandwiches and scones.  And you can have them create special blends of teas for you… I wish I lived in NYC.

A/N FA: Sorry this took so long.  This chapter has been written and rewritten so many times that it's not even funny.  And personally, I still don't think it's the best it could be, but AF informed me (in a very colourful voicemail message) that he was not going to write it a seventh time.  So if it sucks, blame him.  Oh, and by the way, _Untitled_ was intended to be a one-shot.  And I just don't have the time to make it into a chaptered fic, so it's up for adoption if anyone wants it (and maybe name it).  I've also got two songfics in the works that might be up tonight if I don't get distracted by basketball and the season finale of _Dream Job_.  

A/N AF: Due to circumstances beyond our control (practicing for the Battle of the Bands and FA leaving the disk in her dorm room, mostly), we couldn't upload this when we wanted to.  But it's up now and you can all stop cursing our very existence(s).  And I apologize about the ending; FA has become addicted to cliffhangers.  (I chopped the chapter off and the other half is in chappy 13.  But on the plus side, you won't have to wait as long for an update.)    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fred's POV

I wonder if I can will the phone to ring.  And make Adrienne be on the other end of the receiver.  It's noon here, which means it's 7:00 AM in New York.  She was supposed to call me as soon as she got in last night and I haven't heard from her yet.

You know what?  Screw this.  I want to know what the hell is going on that she can't keep a simple promise and call a guy.  I dial the familiar number of her Manhattan flat, but I only get the machine.  Okay, lets try her cell.  It rings twice before a clipped efficient voice answers.  A clipped efficient voice that does _not_ belong to Adrienne Marissa Johnson.  "Hello?"

"Hermione?  Where are you and why are you answering Adrienne's phone?"

"She's otherwise engaged right now."  What the hell?  "And to answer your first question, we're at St. Stephen's."

St. Stephen's?  That's the American Wizarding hospital, located conveniently across from Johns Hopkins.  "What the hell are you doing there?"  Why did I ask that?  I know exactly what happened: Angie beat the shit out of Adrienne.  Damn it.  I knew I should have followed them.  If I had, I could be shagging my beautiful wife right now instead of worrying about her.

"Your ex-wife got high and got into it with her cousin in the bathroom of a club.  Ah, hell.  To make a long story short, they beat the crap out of each other, Gin and I knocked them out and took them to the hospital.  Which was no easy task because I was drunk and Ginny was stoned out of her mind."

Did Hermione just say she was drunk?  And yet, this surprises me a helluva lot more than hearing her say that Ginny was baked.  "And what happened to Daniels?"

"We finally convinced him to go back to his flat by checking Angie out of Johns Hopkins and telling him that we'd keep an eye on her."

"And where is she now?"

"Angelina or Adrienne?"

Oi.  Sometimes I wonder exactly what the hell Ron saw in her.  I mean, for someone so bloody smart, she's so fucking daft.  "Which d'you think?"

"They're both still unconscious.  But all their cuts have been healed and they're fine.  You'll still see Angie this afternoon and Adrienne can go to work in the morning."

Someone groans in the background.  It's Angie; I'd recognise that moan anywhere.  "Hermione Jane Granger!  What in the bloody hell is going on there?"

"Fred, I'll call you back," she says brusquely and the next thing I hear is a click.  I wish I had enough of a handle on things to fix this.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Angelina's POV

"Ooohhh," I groan.  My head feels like it weighs a ton.  I knew I shouldn't have smoked that weed with the Silver Fox last night.  Bastard probably laced it with acid.  Shit.  Acapulco Gold my ass.

I finally gather the strength to open my eyes and what I see is enough to almost make me to scream.  I'm wearing one of those horrendous-looking hospital robes.  You know the ones I'm talking about; they're made from the stiffest, roughest parchment money can buy (because the best hospitals don't use cloth).  So I'm in the hospital, St. Stephen's by the looks of it (the worst magical hospital in the world according to my Aunt Felina), my head is killing me, and I can barely move.  And to top it all off, Ginny is sitting on my ridiculously small bed.

"Gin, can you please move?" I ask in as syrupy sweet a voice as I can muster.  "I have an itch and can't scratch it."  And she actually gets up.  Bloody frickin' amazing.  I try to sit up so that I can scratch, but I can't move.  "And remove whatever Constricting Charm you and Hermione put on me while you're at it!" I add with a snap.

Hermione gets up from the chair she was sitting in on the other side of the room.  "First of all, _we_ didn't put on it you; the mediwizard did.  Secondly, it's for your own good."  She pauses for a second before muttering under her breath, "And Adrienne's safety."

What the hell is she on about?  Then I look over and see my evil bitch of a cousin lying unconscious in an identical bed and the memories come floating back.  Most notably, the fight.  I chuckle to myself.  I'm surprised the Squib had it in her.  I guess I should forgive her.  I mean, she _is_ family (pretty much the only family I've got left) and she did seem concerned about me last night.  I should at least let the thing go; after all, it seems so pointless now.  "I'm not going to murder her.  I just want to scratch an itch for Merlin's sake!"  They look unconvinced.  "Head Girl's honour," I add, my eyes giving them my patented puppy dog look.  I'm not sure if it'll work on them, though.

It does.  "Oh, all right," Hermione says, throwing her hands up in exasperation.  She picks up her wand and mutters something unintelligible under her breath.  I wiggle my arm to see if the spell worked and, thankfully, it did.  It left me a little stiff, though.  But at least I can move and scratch the offending itch.  Oooooohhhhhhh, that feels so good.  

Unfortunately, as I sit up, I notice the clock on the wall of the hospital room.  It says 7:15 AM.  Ugh.  I need some Teany Mint tea.  "Hermione?"

"Yes?" she answers with a suspicious eyebrow raised.

"You're a mediwitch, right?"  She gives a murmur of affirmation, so I continue.  "Well, could you sign me out?  It's early, I have a hangover, and I haven't had my tea."

"You want tea?  Go to Teany.  It's Manhattan's Best.  New York's Finest," a voice says from the other bed in the room.  _She_ likes Teany?  Well, I shouldn't be surprised.  The elite tea drinkers all visit Teany because of its variety in flavours.  And because it's cheap (and so are we).

"I know.  I can't function without my chocolate almond croissant and Irish Breakfast."  I pause.  "But today, I'm in the mood for Teany Mint."

"What you _need_ is some Tea for the Liver," Adrienne says.  "I'm not sure what's in it, but it's exactly what you need right now."

"Well, what's _your_ favourite flavour tea?" 

"Well, I haven't been through all ninety-six, but my favorite so far is a tie between the Earl Grey Crème and the Monkey Picked Superior Ti Kuan Yin." 

"How can you drink Ti Kuan Yin?!  It's inhumane!"

"Angelina, the place is owned by a vegetarian and a vegan!  I doubt there is a guy in China standing over the monkeys with a whip forcing them to pick tea."

"But what if there is?  Then you'd be part of the demand that causes the poor monkeys to be forced to pick tea.  And then, of course, they'd be beaten at the end of the day for not picking enough.  Aren't you a vegan?  Doesn't this bother you?"

"Just because I'm a vegan doesn't have to mean I'm a tree-hugging hippie like you!  And don't you eat meat?"

"No, I don't.  I'm a strict vegetarian, thank you very much!"

"Down girls!" Ginny calls out with a grin on her face.  Doesn't she know that this is a serious argument?

"I say let them go at it, Gin.  I agree with Adrienne.  There's nothing worse than a moral vegetarian."

"Hey!  _I'm_ a moral vegetarian!"

"Exactly my point!"

Adrienne and I look at each other in confusion and turn back to Mione and Gin.  Last we thought, this was an argument about tea.  "YOU TWO DON'T EVEN DRINK TEA!!!" we yell in unison before we start laughing uncontrollably.  Apparently our laughter is contagious, because Hermione and Ginny start burst into a fit of giggles as well.

When I finally catch my breath, I look over at my cousin.  But before I can even open my mouth, she gives me a look that clearly says 'I know.'  "Thanks," I say.

"Don't worry about it," she replies.  A comfortable silence hangs in the air for a few moments before Adrienne turns to look at Mione.  "So when are you going to get us out of here so that we can get our tea?"

"Yeah," I add, darting a glance at my cousin.  "I want to introduce the two of you to a tea so good you'll never drink coffee again."

"What's it called?" Gin asks, raising an eyebrow at our conspiratorial looks.

"Yerba maté," Adrienne answers.  "It's especially good with a teany bagel."

"What's that?" Ginny asks.

"Isn't it obvious?  It's a small bagel," Hermione says, that smug, know-it-all look on her face.

"No, it's not," I correct for Ginny (and just to piss off Hermione).  "It's a huge bagel covered in melted cheddar cheese with grilled veggies, Canadian bacon, and tomato."

"But none of us eat meat," Ginny says, obviously confused.

"It's like 'non-turkey'," Adrienne explains.  "It isn't really Canadian bacon; it's a vegetable substitute."  And at that precise moment, someone's mobile rings, playing Nirvana's 'Rape Me.'  Must be Adrienne's because I'm the only other person alive who misses the grunge movement.  (The music, anyway; I hope flannel shirts and ripped jeans never make a comeback.  The clothes were almost as bad the ones in the eighties.)

Sure enough, Hermione tosses the phone to Adrienne.  "It's for you."

She takes one look at the dial and curses.  "Hello, Fred," she says into the receiver.  "We were pretty evenly matched, I'd like to think."  A pause.  "We're both fine.  She was too drunk and stoned to hit me as hard as she wanted to."  Another pause while Fred yells something.  "Calm down, will you?  Alex cornered me and wanted to introduce us.  Then he wanted to talk about nothing after she walked off."  Fred says something else.  "We don't look alike, Weasley.  Couple that with the different last names, the different countries of residence…There's no way he'd know."  A longer pause this time.  "We're on our way to Teany for breakfast."  An even longer pause while she listens to my ex-husband.  "Look, do you want to just talk to her?"  She taps her foot for a few seconds before handing the phone to me.  "Your turn.  I can't listen to him any longer."

I close the small phone and hand it back to her.  She raises an eyebrow at me in confusion.  "I don't want to talk to him either."  My three companions nod their heads in understanding before we Apparate to the home of the best tea in New York.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* 

Fred's POV

She hung up on me.  I can't believe she hung up on me.  My own wife!  _Ex-wife,_ the voice inside my head nags at me.  _She doesn't want you, anymore.  Why don't you just let it go?  You had your chance and you blew it_, it continues to taunt me.  "Shut up and leave me alone!  Just shut the bloody hell up!" I yell and flop onto my bed.

I guess I was a lot louder than thought because Mum and Dad Apparate into my room with a very loud 'POP.'  In an instant, my parents are at my side.  "Are you alright?" Mum asks, concern flooding her voice.  "Do you need to go to St. Mungo's?"   She feels my forehead and starts fussing over me, as she's apt to do over the tiniest thing.

"Mum, I'm fine!  I swear!" I exclaim while trying to get away from her before she suffocates me.  Really, she'd cause a guy to become claustrophobic.

She doesn't look convinced.  "Are you sure?  You don't look well at all.  You seem rather pale…"  I look up at my dad and silently beg him to stop this madness. 

Unfortunately, he merely shakes his head.  "Sorry, son, but I agree with your mother.  You look ill."

"I'm fine.  I just…" I trail off.  Mum and Dad look at me expectantly so I continue my thought and hope that they don't think any less of me.  "Angie hung up on me and I'm not sure what to do."

"And the voices inside your head are telling you to just give up on her," Dad finished.

I look up at him.  "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"The same thing happened to me at school," he says in an understanding voice.  "Your mother used to ignore me, but I kept after her and look where we are now."  Yeah, sure Dad.  But Angie married me once; I'm not sure she wants to do it again.

"So you're saying that Angelina's just playing 'hard-to-get'?"

"For lack of a better term, yes."  He pats my back and gets up.  "Just give her time, son.  She still loves you; I know she does."  He and Mum walk out and leave me alone in my room.  I decide to take a nap for a little while.  Maybe until tea.

After what seems like only ten minutes, I wake up to a very loud 'POP' and find myself staring at four very angry women.   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

So what'd you think?  Chapter thirteen will be up around Thursday.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

FredsAngel and AngelsFred

Disclaimer: Viacom owns VH1, not us. (Like we'd want it, anyway.)

A/N FA: An update for all of you! AF and I are both getting ready for finals, but took this time out to update as many stories as we could (this, _Ironic_,_ OAS_, a parody of Ginuwine's 'In Those Jeans', and a songfic that has been on my desktop since forever...). So you'll be reading a lot from us soon. And since summer holiday is upon us, we'll have more time to write. (AF: Sure. Right after we lie around my dad's place, fall asleep in front of the TV, wake up and go wakeboarding, eat, and start the cycle over again.) Oh yeah, this is a kinda funky chapter. Remember the very end of chapter 12? This starts out a few hours before then, while Angie and the girls are still in NYC. (Maybe I should do a "Sex and the City"-like spin-off from this.) Bad jokes aside, I love Nathan Lane. Especially in _The Birdcage_. And Adrienne's middle name is pronounced 'Ti' ah' ră.'

And thanks for the all the positive responses to "Prelude." I've found that I kinda like jerk!Fred; it reminds me of another annoying redhead who shall not be named. (AF: For your sake, you'd better be talking about my sister.) I've also grown an even greater fondness for George/Angelina. And since George was the jerk in "All of This", I figured it Fred's turn to be an asshole. (Besides, it's not like he can help it; he's irresistible. What you would you do if women just threw themselves at you for no reason?) And before I forget, very few people know that George and Angie are together…and Fred ain't one of 'em. Another little teaser for you guys.

Angelina's POV

After a quick glance around to make sure no one noticed four beautiful women appearing out of thin air, we stroll into the bright, cosy tearoom. I love Teany, if not just because of the great tea, because it doesn't resemble other teahouses I've been to. Like Madam Puddifoot's. Mum took my sisters and I there once and it scarred us for life. All that lace and glitter and crap is just plain wrong.

Hermione and Ginny sit down while Adrienne and I head to the counter. "Hi, Kels," we chorus to the woman at the cash register. Kelly is the vegetarian co-owner of Teany; her vegan counterpart, however, is nowhere to be seen. "Hey, where's Moby?" I ask casually.

"Eh, he'll be in later. And maybe if I'm lucky, he won't Apparate. That freaks me out. I'm glad you two walk in like normal people," Kelly answers just as coolly. "So the usual?"

"Not today. Can I get a teanychino?" Adrienne gives me a look. "Scratch that. Give me an 89."

"Rough night?"

"Very. There are times I think Club Edelweiss is the second coming of Studio 54."

"Girl, I've been saying that since it opened. The only difference is that it has better-looking owners." All three of us laugh; after all, none of us are old enough to remember the owners of Studio 54 (other than what we've seen on VH1's _Behind the Music_). "Is that all?" she manages to ask between chuckles.

"Um… two 80s, one plain scone with clotted cream and jam and one teany bagel. For me, one avocado and tofu cream cheese, smoked tofu with mango, and a ploughman's."

"You know, you get another choice," Adrienne smirks.

"Shut up. I'm thinking. And…peanut butter and chocolate."

Kelly turns to my cousin. "Uh, okay. And you, Adrienne?"

"I'm rather hungry, actually. One granola with soy yoghurt, a Welsh Rarebit, and a cashew butter sandwich. To drink…how about a 24." I glare at her. I can't believe she ordered Ti Kuan Yin after this morning's argument. "Okay, fine. Give me the Vanilla Berry Cream."

"You know, Adrienne, we're all adults here. You can say '69'," I smirk. Her response? A swing at my head. Evil, evil woman she is.

Kelly shakes her head at us. "Is that separate or together?"

"Together," we say in unison.

"Well, that's 52 bucks (A/N: actual price; menu's in front of me) then." I hand over the cash and we head over to the table.

As I soon as I sit down, my mobile starts ringing. Two seconds later, Adrienne's goes off. "What?" she says into the receiver, I presume to Fred.

Finally, mine stops ringing. I pick it up and check my voicemail. "Message sent by 'Jamilah Martinez'," the automated voice says, "at 9:24 AM." Followed by that, I hear the frazzled voice of my publicist.

"Antoinette Toussaint! Where the hell are you? Do you know how hard I work to keep your name out of the tabloids? I cannot believe the shit that you have put me through this time! Fighting with Adrienne Johnson! Have you lost your fucking mind?! Call me immediately so that we can set up a press conference to get this sorted out."

"End of message," the automated voice says needlessly.

At the same time, Adrienne snaps her phone closed. "Well, that was my publicist. Apparently, both the _Enquirer _and the _Star_ got their grubby little paws on pictures of last nights events."

I turn to look at her. "You need to set up a press conference to stop those pictures from going to press, don't you?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Ginny opens her mouth before I can even say anything. "That was your publicist on the phone, too, wasn't it? What's his name? Jamal Martinez?"

"No. That's _my_ publicist," Adrienne answers. My cousin furrows her brow briefly before obviously coming to a conclusion. "Your PR girl is _Jamilah_ Martinez, isn't it?" I nod slowly, seeing where she was going with this. "Then fixing this should be a piece of cake."

"You know, you're right. You call Milah, I'll call Jamal and we'll get this straightened out in no time."

Hermione exchanges a confused look with Ginny. "Will the two of tell us what's going on? We can't exactly follow your train of thought here. Or see why you'd call each other's public relations personnel".

"Our publicists are related!" we exclaim together. "We're represented by the same public relations company," I explain. "And it's run by übersiblings Jamilah and Jamal Martinez. They –" Before I can finish my statement, however, a deep, clearly masculine voice comes from behind me.

"So the wonder cousins are speaking now." If he thought we didn't hear that loud ass 'POP', then he has truly lost his mind.

"Hi, Moby," we say casually in unison. Then we add, "Shut up, Moby."

The techno superstar plops into the chair separating me from my cousin and slides an arm around our shoulders. "You know you love me." Then he looks across from us as if noticing Mione and Gin for the first time. "And who are these lovely ladies?" Adrienne and I burst into a fit of giggles. We've both known him for quite some time now and it still amazes us that he fancies himself a ladies man. (Not that he's bad looking or anything, but there _are_ better out there.) He stares at Hermione for a few seconds before recognition colours his face. "Ohmigod!" he exclaims, face turning red with excitement. "You're Hermione Granger! Can I get your autograph? I can't believe it! Hermione Granger is in my teahouse! Sitting right across from me!"

Adrienne and I can't help but to laugh at him again. And at Hermione's frozen expression. Honestly, the girl looks like she's been Petrified again. "You'll have to forgive him," Adrienne manages to choke out between giggles. "He doesn't meet many people more famous than he is."

I can't resist getting a dig in as well. "Adrienne Tyarah Johnson! You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You know that there are no people more famous than him. His ego couldn't take that."

He focuses on us for the first time since realising that Hermione was with us. "If you two weren't such good customers…" That reminds me; what happened to my food? I'm hungry and need to deal with the wrath of the Martinezes later.

Apparently Adrienne was thinking the same thing. Now I'm starting to wonder if Fred was really worth not speaking to her for nine years. "Yeah. Speaking of that, could you tell your partner that we want our damn tea? We've places to be."

At that moment, Kelly comes over with two trays of tea. "A little help here," she says, struggling with the teapots. "There's another tray and a sandwich rack behind the counter." Moby reluctantly gets up and heads to the back of the small café. She puts a pot of Vanilla Berry Cream tea in front of Adrienne and a pot of Tea for the Liver in front of me. "The Yerba maté must belong to you two then," she said, setting a pot in front of both Mione and Gin. As she walks off to deal with another set of customers, Moby comes back.

"So who has what?" he says, a cheerful look on his face.

"Mione gets the scone and Ginny gets the teany bagel. The granola, Welsh Rarebit, and cashew butter sandwich goes to Miss Greedy over there and everything else is mine." He doles out the food and leaves.

Adrienne throws a bit of granola at me. "_I'm_ greedy? You're the one eating a peanut butter and chocolate sandwich for breakfast!"

"Hey, I have the four food groups covered! Fruits and vegetables, dairy, soy, and chocolate." The table erupts in laughs. "Anyway, as I was saying earlier, our publicists want to set up a press conference so that we can dispel any rumours of animosity between two of their best clients. I don't think they even knew that we knew each other until then, though." We both pull out our mobiles and begin dialing. "Jamal? This is Toni Toussaint." I say into the receiver. Beside me, I can hear Adrienne talking a mile a minute to Jamilah.

"Ah, yes. The woman that beat the shit out of my favorite client. What do you want?"

"You know, she _did_ do a number on me, too." The silence on the other end of the receiver lets me know that Jamal Martinez is not amused, so I get to the point. "Your sister called me and said that we needed to set up a press conference immediately to stop the pictures from going to press."

"So why aren't you on the phone with her?"

"Because Adrienne is on the phone with her right now."

"And you know that, how?"

"Because she's sitting next to me in Teany." And flinging granola and soy yoghurt at me while she's gesturing and arguing with Jamilah. But I'm not going to tell him that. "She's trying to do the same thing with her that I'm doing with you."

"Which is?" Let it never be said that Jamilah and Jamal Martinez aren't really siblings. He's just as bull-headed and stubborn as his sister. Maybe even more so.

"Explaining to you that it was a damn misunderstanding so that we can clear up this mess. We have a flight to England later this afternoon."

"Out of where? She hasn't said anything about it to me." Or to me. Why did I say that? Oh yeah; 'cause she's a bit angry with my ex-husband as well.

"La Guardia. On Delta. At 4:00," I say, shocking myself with the details. I thought I had forgotten all the schedules I had memorised. The only problem is he'll probably check it out when he gets off the phone with me. Ginny gives me the thumbs-up and raises her mobile to tell me it's already been done.

"So what time do you want the conference to be?"

"Hold on a sec. I need to check with Adrienne." I tap her shoulder. "What time do you want to hold the conference?"

"I don't know. What time are we leaving for Fr – er, _Aunt Molly's_?"

"Plane leaves at four."

She raises an eyebrow at the word 'plane', but catches on quickly. "So how about 2:45? Time to make our statements, answer a couple of questions, and then get the hell out."

"That's cool." I turn back to the phone in my hand. We're thinking along the same lines apparently. "2:45. We just need enough time get in and get out."

I can hear him clacking away on the keyboard in his office. I wonder if it looks anything like Jamilah's, ultilising the minimalist look in favour of Feng Shui. (So she says; _I_ think it's for the corporate shark feeling. Her office gives off a frightening vibe.) "Okay. I'm free then. Just let me talk to Ms. Martinez about her schedule and we'll try to accommodate you and Ms. Johnson before you leave." Ms. Martinez? Ms. Johnson? Does he always have to be so damn professional?

"That will be fine. Goodbye." Good riddance is more like it.

"Good day."

Looking to my left, I notice that Adrienne has hung up her mobile. She looks a bit a weary. Meanwhile, Mione and Gin are staring at me, expectant expressions on their faces. "Well?" they chorus in unison.

"He's going to check Jamilah's schedule to see if we can do a conference at two." I turn back to my cousin. "You look a bit tired."

"Jamilah scares me. She's too much like her brother. Remind me to look her up when I'm in the market for a new lawyer."

"That's how I felt about Jamal. He actually referred to Milah as 'Ms. Martinez'. It was scary."

"And there's nothing –"

Hermione cuts Adrienne off. "You can talk about that later. What I want to know is how in the hell does Moby know about me?"

"Joanne's four books," Ginny says cheekily.

"Shut up, _Virginia_," she says, empashising Ginny'sfanon name. "I was talking to the Muggles."

Adrienne looks at me. "You want to field this one or should I?"

"You can take it."

"Okay." She pours another cup of tea and turns back to Mione and Gin. "The short and the short of it is that he's a wizard. A lot of the beautiful people in New York are."

"It's kind of like Marvel comic books. All the costumed freaks are in New York," I add. "If the general population doesn't think it exists, chances are a famous New Yorker is one."

"Like who else?"

"Nathan Lane."

"What's he?"

Adrienne bursts into a fit of giggles. "_She's_ an alien." Ginny makes a face that's somewhere between disgust and confusion. "You really don't want to know how we know."

Time Jump

2:45 PM (EST)

I've never been so nervous in my life. I manage to catch Adrienne's eye and she's just as tense as I am. I know she's worried about her name being dragged through mud in KeVan Monét's column beside mine. And it'll be worse for her because she's a record exec and technically _Spin_ is a magazine devoted to music. "You sure you want to do this?" I whisper.

"Yeah. I was part of it. Besides, I was in worse shape than you were. Monét'd be on my side."

"But this means admitting we're related. Then the bastard would probably attack the whole label."

"Then I'd sue him for slander and take the asshole for every penny he has." Maybe I should switch to Jamal for my PR. Jamilah wouldn't let me fire back. I groan. When she finds out _everything_ that I did last night, she is going to kill me.

"Okay. Let's do this." We both turn back to the gossip and entertainment journalists (and I use that term loosely) in front of us. "First question."

"Is it true that the two of you were fighting over Alex Daniels in the bathroom of a nightclub?" a gray-eyed blonde in the front row asks.

"No," I answer flatly. "Next question, please."

A woman that could be a dead ringer for Robin Givens stands up. "Ms. Toussaint, do you have a drug problem? Is it true that you are addicted to heroin and cocaine?" Heroin? Cocaine? Where do they get these things?

"No. I take _ecstasy_ because I am bipolar and my doctor back home prescribed it for my depressive episodes." Okay, so I'm not bipolar. But my physician _did_ prescribe it for my depression. "Next."

A tall man with skin the colour of milk chocolate and a predatory glint in his eye stands up in the last row. KeVan Monét. Should've known he'd be here. Actually, I knew he'd be here; it just threw me off that he wasn't in the front row relishing all this. "You know, I never noticed how much alike you two look until now. Are you sisters?"

Adrienne fields this one. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Mr. Sledge, but we're not. Just cousins that had become estranged over the years. Next question."

Monét remains standing, but winces at the use of his real surname. It could be worse; at least he isn't going on about how it's a slave name designed by the 'man' to keep him down. "But you're from New York and she's from France."

I roll my eyes and humour the rat. "No, I _live _in France; I'm a native _Brit_. But I'm a citizen of both countries." That's the truth. And they can check up on it, too. We might have been the richest combined magical family in Europe, but Mum and Dad wanted to be sure we could survive in the Muggle world if Voldemort ever came back. So my sisters and I had dual citizenship in both the magical and non-magical worlds.

Adrienne continues. "As am I. Her dad and my mom were brother and sister. My family moved to New York when I was fifteen, which was about the same time her parents split up."

"My dad moved back to France and my mum stayed in England. And since I spent six months with each parent, the courts granted me dual citizenship. Then I spent a year majoring in Classics at Cambridge, dropped out, and moved to France permanently." I smirk. "Anything else you want to know, Kev_in_?"

He shakes his head and sits down, looking like a chastised child. I'm actually looking forward to reading his next column. We field a few more questions before Jamilah and Jamal Martinez rush in to remind us of the time. We stand up and head outside where Hermione and Ginny are waiting for us. "Ready to go?" Gin asks.

"Yeah," my cousin and I answer in unison before laughing. We've been doing that a lot today along with giggling. We quickly look around for watching people and then the four of us Disapparate.

Fred's POV

8:30 PM (GMT)

Forget angry. The four women standing in front of me are beyond angry; they're furious. I think I can actually see smoke coming out of the noses of Adrienne, Hermione, and Ginny. But Angelina...she doesn't just look angry, she looks disappointed as well. I'm really in for it now, apparently. "I can explain," I say in a feeble voice, looking 'round at the four females that have their arms folded across their chests and are staring daggers at me. Explain what? I don't even know what they're mad about. But then, they were always mad. I smack my head in frustration. Fred, you idiot, this isn't the time to be making crappy jokes.

I guess they can tell that I'm completely in the dark about what has them so pissed off because Angelina speaks for the first time since she and her mates have arrived. "You can _explain_ why I've been the target of slander in a popular magazine? You can _explain_ why I've been in a severe depression for the last few years? You can _explain_ why you've been lying to me all this time?" I watch as a slow smile spreads across her lips. Uh-oh. That means I'm really screwed. "Well, go ahead then, Fred. Explain." A few seconds of silence while I sit on my bed and try to make sense of Angelina's words. I have almost no clue about what she's talking about. Her foot begins tapping the floor impatiently. "We're waiting."

"Well, Angel –"

"Angelina," all four women snap immediately.

"Well, _Angelina_," I continue, making sure to emphasise the correction, "I had a good reason."

"Which was?" she says in an even monotone. Oh sweet Merlin, she's seriously pissed. That's the voice she uses when Mount Angelina is about to erupt and she's doing everything in her power to keep her anger in check.

Okay. Take a deep breath, Fred. You can do this. Just tell her the truth. You did it because you love her and you'd rather die than to see her hurt. "Umm…"

"That doesn't sound like an explanation to me." She turns to her mates. "Did you hear an explanation, girls?"

"Nope," Ginny says.

"Can't say that I did," Hermione replies.

"Nah," Adrienne adds.

Angelina turns back to me, a bit of a grin on her face. "Well get on with it, Fred. We don't have all night, you know." She's enjoying this. She's actually taking some kind of sick pleasure in watching me squirm. She's such a sadist.

"Iloveyouanddidntwanttohurtyou!" There, I said it. Granted, it was all on one breath and came out as one convoluted mumble, but I said it nonetheless.

The grin on Angelina's face gets bigger and spreads to her companions. She's going to torture me; I know she is. They're going to use the Cruciatus Curse on me. Hell, they might even AK me; they all took out their wands out when they started smiling. "Could you say that again? I didn't quite hear you."

"I said, 'I love you and didn't want to hurt you.' I thought sacrificing my happiness for your life was a fair trade. What I don't understand is why you're so angry."

"You don't understand why I'm so angry? Could it be that you made a major decision about _my_ life and didn't even consult me at all? Not even one tiny bit. Could that be it?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Angel." Why do I dig myself into a bigger hole?

"I think it does. Almost as well as being a jackass suits you."

"I was saving your life!"

"No, you weren't!"

"How can you say that? You can't know what's going on in my mind. You're not a telepath."

She throws her arms up in exasperation. "You just don't get it, do you? You decided the rest of my without me! How do you think I felt? I lost my entire family and my friends in the war! And then to lose my husband without a say in it? I wanted to fucking die, Fred! Got that? DIE!"

Then tears start welling up in her brown eyes and I stand up and pull her close. I had no idea she felt that way. "But I came back," I whisper in her left ear.

She pushes me away. "And that's exactly the point! If you were really trying to save my life, you wouldn't have." She sighs. "It really hurts that you didn't think enough of me to at least tell me what was going on."

Is that what this is about? She thinks I didn't care about her? "Angel –"

Gin's look softens and she finishes my thought for me. "It's not that he didn't think about you, Angie. He just did the only thing he thought he could do at the time."

"That doesn't excuse his behaviour!" Adrienne snaps. I have a feeling that she's on Angie's side here. "He still should've told her what was going on and let her make the decision for herself."

"And what would her decision have been?" Hermione replies hotly. "She would've chosen to stay with him! And then she'd be dead right now and Fred would be in Azkaban! And tell me, how in the bloody hell would that help any of us?"

This goes on for a few more minutes before I can tell Angelina's had enough of it. "Shut _up_! All of you, just SHUT UP!" The arguing ceases and all eyes fall on Angelina. "This is between Fred and me, not between the three of you." She takes a deep breath and continues. "I appreciate you all coming with me for moral support, but I think I can do this alone now. Just…go talk to Arthur and Molly or something." I watch as the three Disapparate before my eyes. Then she turns back to me. "Now, where were we?"

You were trying to not kill me. "I was trying to explain myself."

"Oh, right. Go on."

"Ginny was right. But so was Adrienne." Even though she should have been on my side, but I'll discuss that with her later. "I wanted to protect you, but I just ended up acting like an idiot."

She laughs. Well, that's a good sign. "When don't you ever end up acting like an idiot?" She's making jokes; that's an even better sign.

I slide my arms around her waist and pull her down onto my lap. "I hate it when you have a point." She doesn't say anything, so I nuzzle her neck. "You're not mad anymore." It was a statement, not a question. She shakes her head. "So do you forgive me for acting like an ass?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course not." She slides off my lap, pushes me flat on the bed and then straddles me.

"Fred?"

"Hmm?" I murmur, wondering why the beautiful, Junoesque woman on top of me hasn't started ripping my clothes off yet.

"You're not keeping anything else from me are you?"

"Of course not, Angel."

"Good." Then she mutters a Silencing Charm and we succumb to our deepest desires.

A/N AF: I just wanted to let you know that the story is going to be winding down soon. It's actually getting to be way longer than we intended it to be, so its got to end soon or else it'll start going downhill. So the action is going to pick up a bit starting with chapter 15. The next chapter is going to be all fluff because things haven't been okay in Fred/Angelina land since…chapter seven, I think.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

FredsAngel

Disclaimer: Look, this is chapter four-bloody-teen. If you don't know that we don't own Harry Potter by now, then there's just no hope for you. Nor Craig Nicholls (though you've got admit he'd be awesome to hang out with).

A/N: I'm so terribly sorry everybody. I've been distracted a lot lately by everything. I'm also sorry that this is short. It's been sitting on my hard drive for months and I just never had the chance to make it longer.

Angelina's POV

I wake up to bright rays of sunlight streaking through the curtains. And judging by the brilliance, it must be somewhere between 11:00 AM and noon. But that doesn't make any sense; I'm an early bird, always have been. I mean, I wake up around six every morning…and I'm in Ottery St. Catchpole, not Manhattan. Which would mean that it _is_ around 6:00 AM…in New York. Damn five-hour time difference.

You'd think I'd be used to this by now, all the travelling and such. But I'm not. Normally, I can deal with the time zone changes because I'm usually somewhere in Europe. I only spend about a week per month in New York City, so it's easy for me to accept the change. When I'm mentally prepared for it, that is.

I'm sore everywhere. I'm beyond sore. Fred and I went at it for quite some time last night and if I can even make it out of bed, I'll be surprised. Just then the door creaks open and in steps Fred with a silly grin on his face. "So Sleeping Beauty awakes, finally."

I open my mouth to fire a witty comeback, but my jaw hurts too much so I throw a pillow at him. It hits him square in the face. I'd laugh, but I'm in massive pain. Fred notices this, points his wand at me and mutters a charm for pain relief. My jaw still feels a bit stiff, but I'm otherwise fine. And I can talk now. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." His cheesy grin actually manages to get wider. "I guess you'll have to get back in practise, huh."

He's such a prat. I tell him so. "You are the biggest prat I have ever met."

He plops on the bed beside me. "And you wouldn't have it any other way," he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. The good kind. You know what I'm talking about: the kind you get when you're feeling really randy, but you've actually just left the bedroom. A large part of my marriage was based on those shivers—and of thinking of new ways to stop them. "Let me show you just how big a prat I am, Angel," he whispers again, breaking my stream of thought.

Somehow I manage to fight the temptation to go back to bed with the tanned, muscled redhead beside me. Hey, when did he get so tan anyway? Aside from the fact that England is one of the dreariest places on earth, sunlight is no friend to any of my former in-laws. Fred, for example, peels and blisters and burns. It is so disgusting. "When did you get so dark?"

Fred smiles that self-confident smirk that always made my heart skip a beat when we were still in our teens. "You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that. I asked about the tan."

"And I asked whether you liked it."

"Git."

"Witch," he shoots back immediately before we burst in gales of laughter. I've missed this, the oddball aspect of our relationship. Sometimes I just need someone to laugh with, and Alex doesn't understand that. As sweet a guy as he is, he can't get much more serious. He reminds of this guy I met on a shoot in Australia named Craig Nicholls. He's the lead singer of this little-known rock-awesome band called The Vines, and he's always obsessing about writing and being in the studio—when he's not attached to his bong. Work and weed, that's exactly what Alexis Daniels is like. And sex, can't forget about sex.

Apparently, we were laughing a bit too hard because the loudest pop I've ever heard in my life sounds and a giggling Ginny, Hermione, and Adrienne appear—alongside a distressed Molly Weasley. My former father-in-law is there, also, with an unreadable expression on his face. For once, I'm extremely grateful for my dark skin because even though I can feel my cheeks burning, Fred is turning as red as a tomato. I can't believe this.

Fred's POV

I can't believe this. Everyone just stormed into my room like some kind of American Special Ops agents. I feel violated! Invaded! Abused! I feel…

Angelina's right. I _am_ a drama queen. I'm not going to tell her that, though.

But the point is that my privacy has been invaded. What if Angie and I had been in bed? The whole house would have seen us having sex!

Which would still have been better than getting another letter from the Ministry about it, I suppose. I shudder as I remember the last letter Angie and I got from Percy. Too many bad memories. Of all kinds.

As embarrassed as I am, I start laughing all over again once I see the look on Mum's face. She's standing in full hex mode: wand raised, one hand on her hip, red face. Gin, Mione, and Adrienne are giggling like bloody hyenas. At least someone here is happy for us. "Mum, what on earth is wrong with you?"

"Well…I – I heard some loud noises coming from up here. I thought…" She trailed off. Well, that's a surprise. I don't think I've ever heard my mother stutter before. And I've only heard her at a loss for words once: when Percy took Fudge's side at the very beginning of the war. Slimy bastard.

"Everything's fine, Mum. Just making Angel laugh with the old Weasley charm."

Angelina, Adrienne, and Hermione snorted in unison. "What charm?" they asked, trying to keep their laughter under control. The operative word here is _trying_. I don't blame them, though; I sort of want to laugh, too. Angelina and I had that conversation so many times at school, it wasn't even funny. Okay, it was.

Being the true Weasley Twin that I am, I prepare to fire a cheeky response back at the three of them. But Ginny beat me to it. "I should probably take offence to that. But," she smirked wickedly, "I won't. After all, you all fell for it."

I turn to my younger sister. "That was nicely done, Ginevra," I say in a pompous voice, a la my third eldest brother. Actually, I'm surprised he isn't here. He must have quit being the Minister of Magic and got a _real_ job.

"Why, thank you, Frederick," she answers in the same arrogant tone.

Despite being put in their places by my younger sister, Adrienne, Angelina, and Hermione—along with my dad—have not lost their senses of humour. They burst into another round of giggles. Adrienne struggles to say something, but it doesn't come out. Not that it matters anyway; Angelina had managed to shoot a glare in her direction that shut her mouth immediately. And after shooting her cousin the look of death, Angel manages to respond with an equally cheeky statement. "Oh, no Freddikins, it wasn't charm. You just happened to be _really_ lucky." Even Mum laughed at that one and nodded her head emphatically.

Eventually, my parents go back downstairs and I'm surrounded by four women. A guy's biggest fantasy (if his baby sister wasn't one of them) or his worst nightmare, depending on the situation. Adrienne stares at Angelina who is still struggling to gain her composure. Finally, she does and speaks in a serious, steady voice. "So about last night…"

I know exactly what she's getting at, but I pretend to be confused. "What about last night, Angel?" My ex-wife rolls her eyes, while her companions fold their arms across their chests.

I watch in horror as Angelina brandishes her wand, making sure that it's trained on me. "Fred, if you don't answer my question, I _will_ send you to Queensbridge," she says menacingly.

"I'd listen to her, Fred," Adrienne chuckles. "I've been there trying to sign an artist and you definitely don't want to find yourself there."

"Alright, woman!" The Quaffle is in her hands here and she knows it. Sadistic bitch. Hey, that rhymes. Sort of. "What do you want?"

"Just what am I to you, huh? I'm not your wife anymore. We don't go out, so I'm not your girlfriend. So who am I?"

Many a time throughout our relationship have I wanted to hit her, and this is no exception. Except that I really, _really_ want to beat some sense into her. Honestly, sometimes it amazes me that she managed to graduate Hogwarts; even more so that she was Head Girl, she says the dumbest things. "You are," I say, looking deep into her milk chocolate eyes, "the one and only love of my life. You are the very last thing I want to see when I fall asleep, and the first thing I want to see when I wake up. You are my everything." Wow, I don't think I've ever said anything that poetic in my life. If I know my ex-wife like I think I know her, she'll be eating out my hand.

"Fred?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"That is the _biggest_ load of dragonshit I have _ever_ heard in my life."

Oops. Guess I was wrong.

"You don't believe me?"

"No!" She pauses before speaking again. "Well, yes. I mean 'no.' I mean… Aw hell, I don't know what I mean."

She's mixed up. I can work this to my advantage. Or at least try. I send a glare in the general direction of Hermione, Ginny, and Adrienne with the telepathic message for them to get the bloody hell out of my room. Okay, I can't really send messages with my mind, but they seemed to get the idea as the three of them hightailed it out of there while making unintelligible excuses. I turn back to my ex-wife and turn on the trademark Weasley charm. "So you don't know what to believe, huh?" I say with a sly grin.

I can see the wheels turning in her head as she tries to figure out what I'm up to. Finally, she shakes her head slowly. "No," she answers so softly I barely hear the word.

"Well, let me show you," I say as I take her arm and lead her back to my bed.


End file.
